Trouble in New York
by troublesfriend
Summary: A strongly edited version of a previous story. Pretty much it follows the movie plot, but what if a girl joined the newsies instead of David and Les? And what if she's got a past to hide like Jack? This story follows the strike from a new point of view, and shows just how much that can complicate things.
1. Chapter 1

Morgan K. Fawkes awoke with a start. Someone was making a call for "All aboard!" Rubbing her eyes, Morgan looked out the window she had been drooling against and cursed when she identified her surroundings. She hadn't intended to doze off, but she had. It was no one's fault really, Fawkes had been too on edge to sleep for the past couple of the days. She'd been too busy looking over her shoulder, making sure no one followed her.

Once inside city limits however, her resolve had weakened. She felt safe in the anonymity of the big city and she'd let herself nod off. The mistake she made was in letting her guard down too much. It had been a couple years since her last visit to New York, but there were some places that should be avoided. One borough in particular came to mind: Brooklyn.

And here she was, smack dab in the middle of it.

She cursed again.

The only bigger problem was that she didn't have any money to pay the fare to get the hell out. The little cash she had begged, borrowed, and yes, stolen, was gone now.

That meant she had to hoof it back to Manhattan, on the double. It had been a couple years sure, but the thing about Brooklyn is that it's populated by the Irish, and they tend to forget everything but the grudges. Fawkes should know, she was of Irish heritage herself.

Seeing the ticket taker heading in her direction, Fawkes pulled the brim of her hat low over her eyes and shrugged on her pack as she stood and sidled out the nearest exit.

Smells of the city bombarded her as she made her way north. It seemed strange to her that she'd missed the stench of this place. She knew that the City, Brooklyn included, had many redeeming characteristics, anonymity and nostalgic memories among them.

Fawkes kept her eyes trained on the cobble in front of her not wanting to risk a stray look down a side street and get recognized.

Apparently, there is such a thing as being too cautious.

Fawkes got tangled up with a group of Brooklyn youths heading in the opposite direction. She would have seen them if her gaze hadn't been glued to the ground. Now, they were pushing and shoving her out of their flight path. She recognized the smell right off. News boys carried the scent of ink and damp wool. They were on their way to the local circulation center. Fawkes remembered right where it was: a block down and to the left.

Newsies were orphans and street rats for the most part, a rough crew. Brooklyn had a reputation for being the roughest. It wasn't something they boasted about (as boys often do), it was an indisputable opinion shared by all the other boroughs. Anyone not from Brooklyn didn't cross the bridge alone unless they had a friend in Brooklyn, or someone at their side they could count on in a fight.

And she had stumbled right into their little group.

They didn't welcome the intrusion warmly. As she got pushed around and cursed at, Fawkes detected the tell-tale scent of the Brooklyn newsie: they smelled like the shore at low tide.

She let them jostle her. She knew better than to pick a fight. Then, someone flicked off her hat.

Someone was looking for a fight.

She could rise to the occasion. Fawkes went from a shy and deflecting personality to that of a brawler. She put up her fists. But in the same instant her face was revealed, the boys backed off. They all wore identical shocked expressions.

"What exactly is the problem here?" Came a thick Brooklyn accent. The speaker approached. Fawkes couldn't see him over the heads of the Brookies, but she saw the crowd part. He made his presence known by the sweeping motion of a gold capped cane that knocked heads and soft bits alike, causing the hooligans to make way.

For the amount of deference he received, Fawkes found herself rather disappointed. The guy was maybe five-six, sporting red suspenders and a tweed cap (in addition to the cane), and probably rivaled her in age. He commanded some level of respect though, that much could not be denied as he looked Fawkes over and glared at his guys.

"Warn't our fault Spot," some guy at his elbow remarked. "She run inta us. Only we didn't realize she was a girl."

Fawkes turned meek again. She tried to explain that the fault was her own. She wasn't looking where she was going. She was sorry needed to be on her way.

Explaining the incident wasn't the hard part. It was the fear that she'd be recognized. Fawkes was no stranger to Brooklyn newsies. She couldn't be here. She shouldn't be here. She had to get away before someone recognized her. She didn't like the way the leader-Spot, was peering at her.

"What are you playing at then?" He wanted to know, picking up her hat with his cane.

Fawkes knew what she looked like: her scarlet locks had been freed when they knocked her hat off. That was confusing considering she was wearing wool pants tucked into a pair of cowboy boots. She was unequivocally a girl dressed like a cowboy. The reason was simple: she'd left in a such a hurry that she hadn't given much thought to changing. Her only thought had been escape. She also didn't have any spare clothes-except for the ones in her bag, and they were for colder weather, not to mention just as masculine. Also, it was easier to traverse the country masquerading as a boy. People didn't tend to give her as much trouble, unless of course, she was in Brooklyn.

"I don't really see how that's any of your business," Fawkes responded.

"Well, you don't really fit in in these parts," Spot pointed out her boots and hat, the most obvious of her attire.

Fawkes was well aware. It was part of the reason she was headed north. She knew a guy in Manhattan by the name of Cowboy. It had been at least five years since she'd seen him. Newsies didn't tend to stick around for very long, so she didn't expect a reunion. He'd been trying real hard to make his way West anyway. She just needed his name. Say she knew him. He had a big personality. Folks would remember him and it would give her an in. None of that was relevant at present. "I'm just passing through, and I'd like to be on my way," she told him, plucking her hat from his possession.

"I was unaware that Buffalo Bill was in town," Spot remarked. "What're you? Annie Oakley's kid sister?"

Fawkes's jaw clenched. She would be a fool to start a fight with this kid. The smart move would be to walk on. Fawkes pulled her hat back onto her head, hid her hair, and marched through them. They let her go.

She was late getting to the Distribution Office in Manhattan. She had to fight against the flow of traffic to even get into the gates. Once past them, she realized she was in a conundrum. She had no money. How was she even going to buy papes?

If she had been thinking clearly, she should have nicked some off the boys when she got bombarded in Brooklyn, but she'd been otherwise occupied, mostly trying not to bring more attention to herself, so maybe it was a good thing she hadn't tried.

It was too late. Fawkes was riding a wave she couldn't get out of, and before she knew it, she was standing in front of an ugly mug trapped behind steel bars with a stack of newspapers. "Well?" The guy asked tersely.

Fawkes only succeeded in gaping like a fish a few times.

"You slow or summat kid?"

The guys behind her started to grumble. "Oi, Cowboy! What's the hold up?" Someone from the rear called.

Fawkes was thinking of an answer when a boy seated on the steps not far from her turned around. She noticed that he, too, was wearing a cowboy hat. There went that plan.

"Hey Race," the boy with the cowboy hat stood and nudged a dark-haired kid at his feet. "Get a load of this," he nodded in Fawke's direction.

Well, the day went from bad to worse real quick.

"Holy shit," Racetrack, a short kid with Italian heritage, stood and approached.

Fawkes gulped. These two weren't supposed to be here. Racetrack tended to hang out near the racetracks (hence his name), but those were on the edge of Brooklyn, down Coney Island way. When the hell did he move to Manhattan?

"You've got a twin," Race continued, circling Fawkes. He looked from Fawkes's boots to Cowboy. "They say copycatting is the highest form of flattery."

Cowboy approached. Fawkes tried to swallow but her throat had gone completely dry.

"Spot the kid the papes," Cowboy told the man behind the counter with a grin. "He pulls off one hell of an impersonation. If he sells them half as good as I do, you'll make your money back."

Surprisingly, the man behind the sill gave them up.

Fawkes took her newspapers and wanted to bury her face in them. How could they not recognize her? Was it was because she was pretending to be a boy?

See, Fawkes had been to Manhattan before, even though it was awhile ago. This wasn't the first time she'd run away. During that time she'd picked up a job as a newsie as a way to keep herself fed while she found something more sustainable. Let's just say, it didn't work out. During her first round as a newsie, she hadn't attempted to hide her identity. There were a lot of people in New York City. Apparently, there weren't very many ginger girls selling newspapers though. There weren't many girls selling papers, period. That's how they found her the first time. Her stay had been brief, but her memories lasting. She'd been dubbed "Ginger" by a couple of older guys in the crew. At least they had moved on, hopefully to a better place. Most of the time when there was a changing of Newsie ranks, the House of Refuge was responsible. A sort of jail for kids, light on the reformatory, heavy on the prison. That was the destiny for most Newsies, unless they got promoted to the big leagues and went to actual prison.

"So Twin," Cowboy said, grinning as he opened up a paper to skim the headlines, "You must be new to these parts."

Fawkes managed a grin of her own as she looked over her own paper, "How could you tell?"

Both boys laughed.

They fell silent as they perused, remarking occasionally on some of the more interesting headlines. The paper was crap. There was no two ways about it. Hopefully her skills weren't too rusty or she wouldn't be eating much of anything anytime soon.

"So Twin," Cowboy said again, folding his newspaper and standing, hefting the stack of papers he had purchased, "I'm liking the angle you and I could play if we joined forces."

Fawkes raised a brow as she looked up, aside from a preference for western wear and lean and lanky builds (the result of a life of barely getting by), they looked nothing alike. He had mud brown hair, she was a redhead who masqueraded as a blonde if the sun was in her favor. He had dark eyes that were hard to define, hers were a steely grey. He had sharp features, hers were more rounded, though a bit hollow from her cross country journey. What made her markedly different from him was her nose, broken at least twice in her history and was permanently bent.

Fawkes stood and organized her papers, "And why exactly would I want to work with you?"

Cowboy looked around, gestured to himself and said, "Cuz I'm the best there is."

Racetrack nodded that this statement was, in fact, truth. "We could make one hell of a profit." Cowboy continued. "70-30."

Fawkes made a face, "Go on. Only a fool would take that offer. You couldn't pay me to take a split that skewed."

"Well, the gimmick was my idea," Cowboy shrugged, but he could see he wasn't dealing with a dummy and the new kid wasn't going to go for it. "60-40?" He tried.

Fawkes could only shake her head as she hefted her newspapers onto her shoulder. He hadn't changed a bit. "This ain't my first rodeo," she told him and started off.

Race and Cowboy exchanged looks, the saying stuck in both their memories.

"You're turning down the offer of a lifetime!" Cowboy called after her.

"Only for an even split," she replied, turning back to him with a grin, knowing he'd never do it.

"You gotta spot then? Already? Bring in good money?" Cowboy wanted to know.

Fawkes just grinned, "Think I'd tell you? Get real."

She'd gone a little over a block before she heard feet on the cobblestones coming up fast behind her. Fawkes pulled up short and turned.

Racetrack and Cowboy slowed to a halt, red in the face and breathless, "If I didn't know any better, it looks like you're headed to Brooklyn."

Fawkes could see the arches of the bridge and made a face, "You'd be wrong."

"Good," Cowboy said. "There's not much to see down that way."

"Nothin but trouble," Race agreed.

"I have no intention of crossing the bridge," Fawkes assured them. "I just like to be where I can see the river."

The boys exchanged looks again. "It's probably better if you come with us," Cowboy said. "Them Brooklyn boys is a mite territorial, and I wouldn't wish them on any kid. Even the mouthy ones."

Fawkes stopped, exasperated. "I'm not going to Brooklyn," she told them.

"If you're close enough to see water, that's too close for their liking," Race replied.

"Even on this side of the river?" She let the armful of papes down to her side.

They both nodded.

"Huh." Fawkes knew well that some kids were territorial about their selling spots, that's why she wanted a place with a river view. That's where she used to sell. This side of the river was supposed to be Brooklyn free. She should be able to go there. "Well boys, thanks for the warning," she dipped her hat and moved on.

"I think you're underestimating Brooklyn," Cowboy told her.

"I think you're overestimating their reputation," Fawkes replied. "It's your fault for letting take turf in Manhattan anyway. I'ma go take it back."

Racetrack gaped at her, "Nobody that ain't _stupid_ picks a fight with Brooklyn."

Fawkes just shrugged. She supposed it was the Irish that made her territorial. Brooklynites were prone to it as well, so her supposition was probably well-founded. Common sense told her it would be bad news to purposefully run into Brookies, but they were selling on her turf? In Manhattan? There were just some things she would not allow. They might have the Brooklyn reputation backing them, but she was born and raised out West, and that gave her just enough advantage to be dangerous to a City kid, especially since she tended to toe the line on both sides.


	2. Chapter 2

When they saw their warnings were going unheeded, Racetrack parted with a: "Nice knowing ya."

Fawkes shook her head and walked on.

If she ran into the same newsies as before, they might let her sell because they knew she was a girl. Somehow she doubted it. Her luck was never that good.

Her luck was actually surprisingly good. She sold about half her papers before noon. Before she ran into trouble.

It came in the form of: "Hey Cowboy, you're look a little far from home."

When she turned, Fawkes found herself facing the cane-wielding boy from earlier.

"You again, huh?" He thrust his cane into the ground in front of him and leaned his weight on it as he sized her up. "Didn't peg you as a newsie. Where'd you get your papes? You was headed north, away from the circulation bell."

Fawkes tucked her remaining papes under her arm as she crossed her arms, "Manhattan is where I got my papes. I don't know if you noticed this, but you crossed a bridge a ways back there. You ain't in Brooklyn anymore."

"Any place what sees the river is my domain. You care to dispute it?"

"Since you boys don't seem to have any qualms about hitting a girl? You bet your ass," Fawkes replied.

They dropped their piles of newspapers and approached to discuss terms. Fists only. The first one to go down and not come back up was to concede selling rights. Fawkes set down her bag. Spot was in the midst of giving up his cane when he thought better of it and flipped Fawkes's hat off her head. With a second flick, he broke the string that kept it dangling on her back when not in use. "I know one too many cowboys as it is," he told her as the hat dropped to the street.

Fawkes glared at him as she tried to re-do her hair so it was up out of the way. Next free second she got and it was getting cut.

Spot was smirking at her with a Peter Pan-ish posture, pleased with his accomplishment. He put down his cane and unearthed a slingshot and gave that up as well. She snatched the hat from his head and secured it on her own to hold her hair at bay. She had nothing among her belongings that would work. It did the trick-except for the part where she probably had lice now.

That wiped the smile off his face real quick. Fawkes just shrugged. Fair was fair. A hat for a hat.

They put up their respective dukes, but didn't dance. It was more of a circling, a pacing. Eyeing the opponent, sizing up their capabilities. Fawkes knew to be on her guard. First off, she was a fighting a newsie, and a Brookie to boot. She had no illusions about this being a clean fight. The name Spot tugged at her memory, but she couldn't place it. She'd been to a dozen different states, it could belong to a dog, horse, or a boy in any of them, but the particular one she was facing off against commanded a presence. If he was a big wig in his burough, there was a reason for it, and in the newsie world, it probably meant he was a decent brawler.

Spot threw the first punch.

Fawkes twisted away, but Spot was already doling out another. She reeled (he packed a hell of a wallop), and when she went to reposition her feet, he tripped her up. Fawkes stumbled and felt herself start to go down. She did a controlled flail, which resulted in her knocking him squarely in the eye. He recoiled, either not expecting the girl to land a hit, or the force behind it. It allowed Fawkes to regain her ground. She took to the offensive instantly, jab after jab wherever she could find an open spot. She was relentless.

The only good way to avoid her hits was to back up. Not that it helped. It resulted in her advancing on him.

Fawkes paused to catch her breath, a half second too long. Spot took advantage of the lapse in attack and prevented Fawkes from breathing momentarily by doling out a solid kick to her chest that sent her back some feet.

She fell hard. She felt her head bounce off the stone. She was dizzy, but was determined not to give in. When he advanced, Fawkes would have him. She caught his feet in a scissor hold and yanked him to the ground. His head slammed hard against the street and he didn't move for a second. Fawkes didn't trust him though. She maneuvered so she was beside him and laid him out with an extra punch.

She'd won—but now what? They hadn't really discussed the terms and conditions once there was a victor and the knockout had occurred.

Fawkes didn't have much time to think about it. Just then, a handful of newsies rounded the corner, saw her and an unconscious Spot, and Fawkes knew it was time to beat it. She grabbed her gear and her unsold papes and high-tailed it back to Manhattan.

They did not pursue, but Fawkes was certain once Spot recovered, she'd be as good as dead.

Fawkes wandered around Park Row for awhile, peddling her papes and ended up finding Cowboy, not working, but watching a boxing match.

She pulled up a seat behind him. She could use a few tips.

Cowboy turned when he spotted her. "Changed your mind, huh? And your hat?" He noted.

Fawkes reached out to pull down the brim only to remember she'd stolen Spot's tweed cap. "Yeah," she made a face, "I had a disagreement with a man down by the river. Seemed he didn't like my hat so he took it. I took his, figured it'd make me fit in better."

"It looks a lot like the one Spot Conlon tends to wear," Cowboy told her suspiciously.

"I'm fairly certain that his name was Spot. Not that we exchanged particulars," she grinned.

"But you did exchange something," Cowboy told her and pointed to his own cheek.

Fawkes did a tender inspection of herself. She'd gotten herself a bit of shiner. "A small price to pay for the win. And the hat," she added with a smile.

"Win of what?" Cowboy asked, turning his attention back to the boxers.

"Selling turf," Fawkes shrugged.

"You beat Spot Conlon in a brawl?"

"Warn't hard," she shrugged again. "He's just a bitty thing."

Cowboy laughed, "I don't think we ever exchanged names. What'd you say your name was? I'd like to shake your hand."

"Don't you mean: so you know what to put on my tombstone?" She smiled and extended a hand. The first time she came here, she'd gone by Ginger, he'd know who she was if she dropped that name. For her Brooklyn adventure, they'd called her Chauny, an abbreviated version of Leprechaun, because she was ginger and had, at one time, a propensity to wearing tweed. Most people just called her Fawkes, being where it was her last name, easy to shout, and easy to say in a condescending tone. "Fawkes," she said at last.

"Fox?"

"Like Guy Fawkes. The guy who tried to blow up the British Parliament. 'Remember, remember, the fifth of November'?" She tried a line of the old rhyme on him.

It was met with a blank expression.

"Nevermind then," Fawkes shrugged.

"Jack Kelly," Cowboy introduced himself. "Though some of the fellas call me Cowboy."

Fawkes nodded.

"You got a bit of schooling then?" He asked.

"Not really. I just pick things up."

Jack nodded and settled back to watching the match. Since he was done, or seemed to be, Fawkes took to selling the rest of her own papes. She was hocking her last one when she saw another familiar face in the crowd. He was well dressed, topped with a black bowler hat.

He wasn't aging well.

He saw Jack right off. The kid wasn't hiding, wasn't prone to it. The man pulled aside a copper and had words. After they parted, the man surveyed the crowd for other criminal element. He and Fawkes made eye contact and Fawkes knew it was time to go. She suddenly missed her regular hat. A brim pulled low could have avoided this whole scenario.

She made her way back to Jack. "Hey Cowboy, we got to beat it," she told him with a nudge.

"What are you on about?" There was finally a victor in the boxing match and the crowd had gone wild. Fawkes was reduced to pointing.

Jack cursed and pushed her into the crowd. They took to a side alley, knowing the man was hot on their heels.

They ran into a boarding house, up the stairs and onto the roof. Jack ran and jumped off the edge. There was another roof a few feet below. When Fawkes saw this, she followed suit. "We should split up," she whispered as they crouched below the roof.

He put a finger to his lips to shush her.

"You go north, Medda's can't be far from here," she continued. "I'll head south."

His jaw dropped, but Fawkes was already sidling her way to a nearby fire escape for her exit. She had just jumped the distance to the ground when she heard an enraged yell, "Sullivan! Kay! Just wait till I get you back to the Refuge!"


	3. Chapter 3

Fawkes lit out. She didn't stop running until she could see water. And even then she didn't stop till she was knee-deep.

She hadn't even been in the City a day and not only had she run into Snyder, he remembered who she was. The only person in this town with a memory, apparently, and the one person she wished would forget her.

With a sigh, Fawkes threw her gear back on shore and dove into the water, wondering if she could just disappear down there. Go to a world where no one was looking for her. Where she wasn't always on the run. Where money didn't matter. Where she didn't have to resort to theft to get by. Some place where she didn't have to use her fists to get people to take her seriously.

Out West wasn't so bad, most of the time. Because of the scarcity of people, they didn't laugh at her for doing jobs traditionally assigned to boys and men. There weren't enough of them to go around and girls and women had to fill in. But lawlessness was still rampant out west no matter how much people denied it. Fawkes had fallen in with more than one bad crowd. She liked the space out west but not the company. New York was not some place she preferred to be. It was crowded, but it had plenty of places to hide, and from New York she could book passage to almost anywhere in the world. That was the real appeal of the place, though the company wasn't half bad either.

Where Fawkes really wanted to be was Ireland, the place her mother had regaled her with stories about for as long as she could remember. Her mother came over from Ireland and hopped on a wagon heading west. She never got to see Washington, which she hoped would be just like Ireland, but with more trees. She died on the way, when Fawkes was twelve. From there Fawkes fell into the crime. Cattle rustling, because it was easy. The first time her crew got hauled in, Fawkes got lucky. One of the few times in her life.

She took the money and ran. She got as far as New York City before Luck corrected her mistake. She got mugged by a bunch of street kids who left her for dead on the side of the road. She fell in with Jack then, though he didn't go by that name. They managed to keep themselves alive for awhile, until Jack got busted doing a bit of stealing and they both got hauled in. Snyder somehow learned who she was, where she'd come from, and sent her back.

She paid back her debt to society by working for the people she'd stolen cattle from. It wasn't far from servitude and Fawkes could only take so much. She was rather highstrung-so she'd been told.

She headed back east, honestly this time so as not to attract attention, picking up jobs to pay the way. She got a job working with racehorses in upstate New York. They brought their horses to the Sheepshead Races down on Coney Island, which is when Fawkes fell in with Racetrack and the Brooklyn newsies.

Probably best not to think about her last time in Brooklyn, she decided. She was too close for comfort as it was. Resurfacing, she blew out a breath.

Spot Conlon, cane and all, was standing on the shore. "Trying to swim to Brooklyn?" He quipped.

"Why? Want a rematch?" She replied, standing. "The first time around didn't knock enough sense into you?"

"I was going to suggest a best two out of three, but you just jumped right to the insults."

Fawkes shrugged, "No thanks. Besides, you know deep down you're just going to lose again."

"You think so?"

"I know so," Fawkes said, approaching him, sloshing water as she walked. "Boys like you only have a stroke of genius just before the darkness takes you. But then you wake up and you don't remember a damned thing."

Spot grinned, "You've been to Brooklyn before I take it."

"I spent a month there one night," she replied, trying to wring out her clothes.

"It's not all bad," he shrugged.

"It's not all good either," she admitted with a chuckle.

"C'mon you, I know a place where you can get some dry clothes. And hang those up," he gestured to her present state with his cane.

"In Brooklyn?" She guessed, stooping to pick up her things.

"Where else?" He wanted to know.

"So you and your thugs can jump me when I officially cross the line? No thanks."

He nodded. It would appear she really did have experience with Brooklyn natives. "Who knows where the line is really?" He responded with a shrug. "A wise man would suggest the middle of the bridge. But that makes it hard for a surprise attack. Some of my boys would contend that even stepping in the East River is crossing the line."

Fawkes nodded, "So that's what this is about."

"-but they aren't here," Spot pointed out.

"So—what-you're gonna talk me to death unless I come back with you?" She wanted to know. He had to be playing an angle. Kids like him always were. Always thinking and scheming. Fawkes just wasn't sure where she fit in and why. There was one thing she knew for sure, Brooklyn hospitality was never what it seemed to be.

"I think we had a misunderstanding this morning. I am trying to correct it," he told her.

"If I recall, we had two misunderstandings," Fawkes replied, suspicious. Brooklyn hospitality was never this—hospitable.

"Which is why I am making an obvious effort," he said.

"Really? I thought it was because you'd never been nice to anyone before and that was why the strain was so obvious." She thought about how her day was going so far and what she knew about Brooklyn. The fact that she could recall Spot's name but not anything about him made her uneasy, but he was being remarkably persistent. Brooklyn was nothing but bad news, and given her near reunion with Snyder, things certainly couldn't get worse, could they? "Do you know something I don't?" She asked when he took her previous remark without offense. Something was definitely up.

"We have food."

Fawke's head whipped up, and her eyes narrowed. Her one weakness (if she had to name only one), was food. She couldn't recall the last time she had eaten and was keenly aware of its necessity for her survival. She liked to hoard it whenever she got the opportunity. In fact, she spent more time hoarding it than actually eating it, because she never knew when her next meal was going to be and she liked to be prepared. She spent far too much of her life without food and it had scarred her for life.

Her reaction was quick. Too quick. She let on her interest and they both knew it. Did he remember? Did he know?

He didn't know. Fawkes told herself. It was a lucky bribe. Most newsies were hungry and underfed. It had a high probability of working.

Fawkes shouldered her pack and followed Spot, sullenly, across the Brooklyn Bridge.

They were only a few blocks into Brooklyn proper when a shrill whistle pierced the air.

Fawkes alighted to the nearest fire escape. Spot followed her example. When they topped the roof, it sounded again, and Spot made cautiously for it.

Fawkes had to admit she was intrigued enough to follow.

They found themselves overlooking a square filled with newsies surrounded by the police. The man in the bowler hat among them. He stood on the steps of a nearby building as he addressed the crowd. A lot of the guys looked uneasy. Probably because they were guilty of more than one crime.

"Listen up you lot," Snyder said.

Fawkes was surprised by what she was seeing. She didn't know he could get so close to kids without be separated by metal bars first.

"We're looking for a fugitive-"

"What's a fugitive?" One of the newsies interrupted, and the crowd laughed.

Brookies always were a little too wise for their own good.

"A fugitive is a runaway felon," Snyder responded with a tight voice.

"What's a felon?" A different guy asked.

Spot was grinning. Fawkes might have been if she knew this roundup wasn't because of her.

"A felon is a wanted man," Snyder explained. He paused, waiting for another interruption. There was none. "We have reason to believe that a fugitive may be hiding out in Brooklyn," he informed the group.

There was a lot of grumbling among them. There was more than one fugitive hiding out in Brooklyn.

"Known aliases are Ginger and Leprechaun," he continued. "Her real name is Morgan Kay."

There was an upset at the revealing of the gender of the fugitive. Or maybe it was the name.

A guy managed to get a word in though, "You don't have to worry about old 'Chaun-y showing up here. We got a little Brooklyn justice waiting for her."

Fawkes gulped. That was the reason she shouldn't be in Brooklyn. Snyder knew it too, unless of course he wanted to get her killed, which she wouldn't put past him.

Fawkes didn't really recover until after Snyder and the bulls left, and the newsies dispersed. That was when she found Spot giving her a funny look.

"We never exchanged pleasantries," he said, extending a hand. "I'm Spot Conlon. You could say that I'm the one in charge of the meatheads that pass for newsies in this region."

Fawkes managed a grin, "Most people just call me Fawkes."

"Like the animal or the bum what tried to blow up Parliament?"

"What?" Fawkes asked, not sure she had heard correctly.

"I'm gonna go with the former then?" He guessed.

"I just didn't expect you to know who Guy Fawkes was," she admitted.

"Me da was in the IRB. The Irish Republican Brotherhood," he added.

Fawkes nodded. She knew who they were.

"He got exiled after suggesting they try a move like Guy Fawkes to send a clear message to the Brits about Home Rule. Then the Orange killed him after he got over here for being Green," he spat on the ground.

"It's a good idea," Fawkes told him. "And would be effective if pulled off."

"Be one hell of a headline too," Spot said with a grin. He looked over the roof again, "How bout we get you them clothes?"

"And the food," Fawkes added. That was real reason she was here.

Spot grinned as he looked back at her. "And the food," he echoed, and they descended the building.

Food turned out to be the scraps from a local restaurant. Apparently, Spot had an arrangement with the owner-or the chef-Fawkes didn't really pay attention. She was too busy thinking about food, and the fact that Spot had first dibs on the scraps, which meant that for once in her life, she might not be hungry.

By the time Fawkes was sated, her clothes, were, for the most part dry, and she refused any more of Spot's generosity.

"You need a place to sleep?"

Fawkes laughed as she stuffed a few extra dinner rolls in her pockets. "Look, it's not that I'm not grateful for what you're trying to do," she indicated with a final roll. "But there's a limit of charity I am willing to accept."

"I'm just trying to be friendly," he responded.

"Thanks," she said, "but no newsie has ever been this generous. Leastwise in Brooklyn," she added.

"You got something against Brooklyn?" He wanted to know, taking offense.

That was a tough question. She didn't have a problem with Brooklyn. Brooklyn had a problem with her. "I'm just gonna tell it like it is." Sort of. "I think it's a bad idea for me to bunk down with you and your boys. I don't like the odds and I don't like close spaces."

Spot gestured to around him, "This whole city's a close space."

The City was a maze, true. Most days it worked in her favor, so she wasn't going to argue. And she only ever felt trapped when she couldn't see the sky, so that was easy enough to remedy.

"Thanks," she told him, "but I've got to be getting back." The sun was going down and she didn't want to get stuck in this part of town after dark.

"To Manhattan?" He guessed.

"To anywhere north of the river," she told him, matching his even tone. "I'll see you around."


	4. Chapter 4

Fawkes's first stop back on the safe side of the river was to cut her hair. The moon was coming up full and the glow off the river made it seem as bright as day.

Sitting on a dock, Fawkes took off her hat and combed back her hair. She unsheathed a knife at her hip and got to trimming.

After a thorough haircut, Fawkes checked over her reflection in the water. It was a close cut, just above the ears and off the collar, what she liked to do as a way to make the summer heat easier to tolerate.

It made the cap fit easier too, not that she needed to wear it now.

Fawkes dusted herself off, shook out her hair, and cleaned up.

Next was to find a place to crash. The sky was clear. That boded well. It meant she just had to find a nice rooftop to bed down on.

Fawkes perused more than one roof before unpacking her bag, which consisted mostly of a bedroll. She lay it out and climbed on. She looked up at the few stars and smiled. She was here. In New York. She'd survived her first day.

It was not the greatest as far as she was concerned. She'd already spent too much time in Brooklyn. Snyder knew she was here as well as her aliases. She had to play this cool. Sell her papes. Sell a lot of papes. Snyder knew about Brooklyn. He knew about Manhattan. She had to find somewhere new to sell, else she didn't stand a chance. Maybe she could find a semi-decent job.

Most Brooklyn boys who didn't find a permanent home in the slammer got jobs down on the docks. She was kind of young, yes, and would appear scrawny to the untrained eye, but she was a hard worker. The downside was that it was in Brooklyn. The money might be worth the trouble.

She was going to need more time to think about this. She knew people. Maybe they could hook her up with new territory. Or another job.

Medda would give her something: sweeping up, serving drinks; nothing classy, but it would pay money, and that's all that really mattered.

She didn't remember falling asleep. Just waking up. The sun was just starting to come up over the horizon.

It would be in her best interest to get up to Park Row before the circulation bell started ringing. She needed to get her papes and get out. She was looking forward to a long day.

She was about a block from her destination when she heard someone shout, "Hey! Ginger!"

Fawkes put her head down and just kept walking.

A few feet later, she got tackled into a side alley. There was an apology about to be expressed when Fawke's hat came off. But then her dukes came up, followed by the deadliest of glowers.

It was Cowboy Jack Kelly.

She put down her fists and reached for the hat she had stolen from Spot. "What seems to be the problem?" She wanted to know, tucking the hat in her back pocket.

"You think there's only one?" Was his flat response.

"What's on your mind then?" She wanted to know, looking over his shoulder, fixing on a way to get out of the alley, forcibly if she had to.

"What are you doing here? Where have you been? Why'd you cut your hair?"

Fawkes laughed at the third, and most absurd of the barrage of questions. "I'm doing the same thing as you, I suspect. The haircut was to make life easier. Being Ginger was rough before you came along. I've learned the hard way that pretending to be a boy is just easier," she shrugged. "What gave me away?"

"Snyder," he replied. "And Medda," he added with a nod. "I knew you looked familiar but I just couldn't place it until our little jaunt yesterday. What happened to you? More importantly, how did you get out?"

Fawkes laughed. "I got lost in transit," she told him with a shrug. "I had some outstanding warrants out west. That's where they sent me."

"What brings you back?"

"Same thing as the first time. Steady income for passage to Ireland."

"You know," he told her quietly, "I ain't never heard of anyone trying to go there. Everyone from there is coming here."

"Well, that just means it won't be crowded and I'll be able to find myself some work," she shrugged. "C'mon, we're gonna be late." They were walking in the direction of the circulation bell when it rang. "What about you?" She wanted to know. "I thought you were supposed to get locked up until you were eighteen?"

"I decided I didn't need to be reformed for that long, so I jumped the first carriage out of there."

Fawkes nodded. She'd been to the House of Refuge. Her stay was brief. She couldn't imagine having to spend years there. The security was surprisingly lax. It was the fear of getting another offense and a longer stay that kept kids in line. The Cowboy she knew didn't scare so easy. He had a goal in life, something he was working towards, weren't nobody gonna stop that, not even Snyder.

"Hehey," Racetrack said when he saw them enter. "You seemed to have survived Brooklyn okay," he remarked to Fawkes. "Though you seem to have lost a bit of your own identity."

As they got closer, Fawkes decided that a hat would be good to avoid a scene with Racetrack. She slipped the hat over her hair. Mostly because the kid couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

Race let them jump in line with him. "Brooklyn give ya much trouble?" He wanted to know.

"Nah."

"Wait. Isn't that Spot's hat?" He asked, tearing it off her head.

So much for that plan. "Might've been at one time," Fawkes replied, taking it back, "but not anymore."

"Ah, Jacky boy, this one's not gonna last too long," Race shook his head.

They fell silent. Jack knew how resilient Fawkes could be.

"I forgot to tell you!" Race started suddenly. "When I was at the races yesterday, them Brookies was talking about a big to-do that happened on their side of the bridge. Seems our good friend Mr. Snyder had a chat with them about a female fugitive who sometimes masquerades as a newsie."

"You don't say," Jack responded, looking past Race. At Fawkes, "Why Brooklyn?"

"Why not Brooklyn?" Race said. "That was her turf."

"Really?" That was genuine surprise in his voice. Fawkes avoided eye contact. She'd neglected to tell him she'd been back before now.

"Yeah, don't know why Snyder'd think she'd go back there though. Not after what happened. All them Brookies would kill her as soon as they spotted her. Or, at least, give her a good working over," he added.

"Really? What'd she do?"

"Got the old leader of the Brooklyn bunch hauled in by Snyder himself."

Fawkes bit her lip to tell him that that was not how it happened. Not in the least. But that would only make things worse.

"What'd you say her name was?"

"Well, back then she went by the name of Leprechaun, though most of the boys just called her Connie. Apparently she's been around the block before. Also calls herself Ginger. Though her real name is Morgan Kay."

Fawkes could hear the grin in Jack's voice when he said, "Race, this here's Fox."

Fawkes's look of death did not spare Race.

"Holy shit," he swore.

"Hi Race," she tried to smile.

"Wait. You two know each other?" Jack was surprised.

"Wait. You two know each other?" Race said.

"Like you said. I've been around," Fawkes shrugged.

"I can't believe you went to Brooklyn, knowing they had it in for you," Race admonished her.

"I can't believe it took you this long to recognize me," she retorted.

"It was the cowboy hat," both boys said.

Fawkes just laughed.

By now they had reached the front of the line. They bought their newspapers and skimmed the headlines. Racetrack was the first to stand this time. "You gonna tempt fate again?" He asked of Fawkes.

"Well, I beat Spot. By Brooklyn rules, that makes the turf mine."

"Is that how you got the hat?" Race wanted to know.

"How else?" Fawkes retorted.

"You could sell with me," Jack suggested.

"You don't remember yesterday do you?" Fawkes responded. "I am not going with you."

"Come sell with me," Racetrack suggested with a shrug.

"You're kidding right?" Fawkes made a face, "You still sell at the races don't you? I'd have to walk the length of Brooklyn."

"But Cony Island's got its own newsies. That's safe territory."

"Yeah, until I try to leave," she retorted. She was actually considering it. She'd hadn't been to Cony Island in a really long time. Snyder wouldn't be looking for her there.

"You could always swim," Jack suggested.

"To where?" Fawkes wanted to know. South of Brooklyn was nothing but ocean.

"Staten Island," Race shrugged.

Fawkes shuddered, "I'd rather take my chances with Brooklyn."

They parted ways. Or, at least, Jack parted ways with them. Since Race and her were both southbound, they traveled together. Peddling papes on the way.

"You coming with, or what?" Race asked when they entered her territory.

Fawkes paused. Given Snyder's proximity to it yesterday, and the Brooklyn newsies now knew she was about, they would know exactly where to look. Probably best to give it a few days.

As they continued on through Brooklyn, they talked amongst themselves instead of trying to sell their newspapers.

"So, uh, how do you know Jacky-boy?" Racetrack asked after a suitable silence.

"Saved my life," Fawkes shrugged.

"You never mentioned him before," Race said.

Fawkes shrugged, "I asked about him before, but I figured he'd made his way to Santa Fe since nobody knew of him. Turns out he was just a resident in Snyder's House."

"Where did you go between then and Brooklyn?"

"Working out West." It wasn't a complete lie. "Sometimes the City can be too crowded, you know?"

"And after Brooklyn?" Racetrack pushed.

"You know what happened," Fawkes replied.

"No. Actually I don't. I thought I did, but now I see you out and about, freely roaming the streets of New York, and I feel as though I have no idea as to what happened that night."

What was the best way to say this? "You think Jack's the only person who can escape the House of Refuge?" She retorted. It wasn't anything close to the truth, but it was as much as she was willing to concede. "I headed out West for awhile until things calmed down."

"And now you're back."

"So it would seem," Fawkes responded. She had to get him to stop asking questions. They were in Brooklyn now. The less overheard, the better. "I know I've been out of the game for awhile, but after we sell our papes, I'm prepared kick your ass when it comes to picking horses."

It was true, Fawkes wasn't much of a bettor, except when it came to ruffling Race's feathers. He got lucky sometimes. It happened.

But Fawkes knew a bit about horseflesh, from her time in upstate New York, and, well, cattle hadn't been the only thing she rustled...

Though, Thoroughbreds weren't the same as the Quarterhorse, or the Mustang, which were breeds Fawkes was much more familiar with. There were more differences in build and muscling, but the desire to run was easily identifiable.

They made a pretty penny. Or rather, Fawkes made a pretty penny. Five dollars. And that was only in half a day.

"You ever think about doing this for a living?" Race asked, jingling the coins as he started to divvy them up.

"Betting ain't a job," Fawkes replied. "I like a steady income to fall back on."

"Being a newsie ain't much to live on," Race replied.

"But it is a living," Fawkes pointed out.

"Barely," Racetrack told her.

They split the money. Fawkes got the larger majority for picking the winners, while Race opted for the lesser share, saying all's he did was rope in unwitting fools. Race didn't have the best track record so they were more than willing to take the odds against.

Racetrack invited her back to the Newsboy Lodge in Manhattan at the end of the day, but she declined, for similar reasons as why she wouldn't go with Spot. Too many boys, too few exits. Fawkes had been in that situation before. It didn't end well.

After purchasing a legitimate and filling dinner, the pair went their separate ways.


	5. Chapter 5

Fawkes didn't sleep well.

It was too hot.

Her mother once told her that being hot while sleeping can induce bad dreams.

Fawkes had them in spades. It wasn't until morning, when the weather changed and got cooler that Fawkes finally got some rest.

She was woken by a circulation bell in the distance.

She was late!

She didn't seem to be missing much, she noted as she skidded through the gates a short time later. She'd practically flown to get there. "What's going on?" She asked. Cowboy, Racetrack and a handful of other guys were standing together.

"Hey Fox." Jack introduced her to a handful of the guys. "And this is Kid Blink," he gestured to a kid in his late teens with a worn eye patch. He seemed to be aptly named. "He runs with a crew Uptown. They jacked up the price up there it seems, so he came to try his luck here, only they've done the same here as well."

"How much?" Fawkes wanted to know.

A tenth of a cent. Sixty cents for a hundred papes.

"D'you buy 'em?" She asked.

"I don't have enough money as it is," Kid Blink responded sourly.

Fawkes looked around. Everybody looked pretty empty-handed. "Did anyone buy any?"

Their silence was answer enough.

"I can't afford it," said Boots, scuffing the shoes for which he was named.

Fawkes turned. The rest of the boys were nodding. Even Racetrack. This surprised her. He had two whole dollars. Sure, it wasn't enough to retire on, but Fawkes could make that much last her at least two months when times got tough.

Racetrack shrugged, knowing the question on her mind. "I lose more than I win most days. And I got things I need. New socks. New shoes..." He shrugged again, "You told me that you sell papes because you need the income. At sixty per hundred, with bad headlines like we been getting, how much can you really make?"

"What do you propose to do about it?" Fawkes wanted to know, crossing her arms.

"What can we do about it?" Kid Blink retorted.

"Well, one thing's for sure. If we don't sell papes, then nobody sells papes. Nobody comes through those gates until they put the price back to where it was!" Jack said after a suitable pause.

"What do you mean? Like a strike?" Kid Blink responded.

"Are you out of your mind?" Racetrack wanted to know.

"It's a good idea! You guys read the papes, same as me. We'll get people's attention, then they'll have to change the price back." Jack sounded optimistic.

Fawkes hoped, rather than believed, he was right. She had too much experience with adults, all of it bad. A strike would get attention, sure. But they weren't organized, they didn't belong to a union. Every newsie in the City identified with a different burough, and hell, even Manhattan had at least three different crews. "We're kids Jack," she told him. "No one'll take us seriously. We'll just be a bunch of angry kids with no money to them."

"What if we get every newsie in the City on board?" Jack replied, standing. "They can't ignore that."

"And how do we do that?" She wanted to know.

"Manhattan can't be the only place where this is happening, and it's probably not just the _World._ Other newsies aren't much better off than we are. They'll help if it means putting things back to the way they were..." he paused at the look on her face.

"Every strike—and union—" she added, "has flaws. Just look at the trolley workers," she pointed in the direction of the days headline.

"Well, that's another good idea," Jack nodded. "Any newsie don't join up with us, then we'll bust their heads." He looked at Fawkes for confirmation, "Just like the trolley workers."

Kids were starting to crowd them, overhearing the conversation. It was a combination of them and the man griping from behind the bars at the circulation counter that got them to gather out in the street.

Jack didn't waste any time. He jumped onto the statue in the center of the square and shouted to the crowd: "Pulitzer and Hearst and all them other rich fellas, they own this city. You gotta ask yourselves, can a bunch of street kids make a difference? This is our city too. We have to make them realize that, but one voice in this doesn't matter. I'm gonna need all of you if we're going to make this happen. Are we gonna let them know that we exist? Are we gonna take what they give us or are we gonna strike?"

"Strike!" Kid Blink shouted, and the rest of the newsies exploded into noise.

Jack talked a pretty good talk, about how the fat cats had to respect newsie rights, that the newsies were a union and they had to stick together like the trolley workers were doing.

"What's to stop somebody else from selling our papes?" A young kid wanted to know.

"Yeah, some of them don't hear so good!" Racetrack added.

"Well then, we'll soak 'em!"

Fawkes spoke up then. She wasn't against brawling, but it would hurt them, respectability-wise.

A gimp, Crutchy his name was, muttered, "Can't get any worse."

Fawkes couldn't help but grin. He had a point. They were the lowest of the low. It was half-expected, she supposed. It would help show the world they were serious.

Jack continued working the crowd into a frenzy until they took over chanting, "Strike! Strike! Strike!"

Jack tried to cut them off, he still had words to say. "We gotta find a way to get the word out to the newsies in other buroughs. Send some of those..." he looked to Fawkes.

"Ambassadors?" She guessed. It was the first word that came to mind.

"Yeah," Jack snapped his fingers and nodded. "We need some ambassadors to tell the other newsies what we're planning."

The kids immediately volunteered to spread the word. Harlem, Uptown, Downtown, the Battery, the Bronx, Queens. There was a pause, and Fawkes was keenly aware of the burough that remained.

"Alright, what about Brooklyn." No takers. "Spot Conlon's territory." Jack eyed the, now silent, crowd, "What's the matter, you all scared of Brooklyn?"

"We ain't scared of Brooklyn," some boy shouted back. "It's just-Spot Conlon makes us a little nervous."

"Well, he don't make me nervous," Jack said. "So me-" he searched the crowd for a friendly face, "and Fox'll go to Brooklyn."

Fawkes's eyes widened. She wasn't scared of Brooklyn, but she also didn't have a death wish.

"Don't you gotta give our demands to Pulitzer?" Racetrack said.

Jack looked between the pair of them. Fawkes shrugged. He was right. How was Pulitzer going to know what they were planning on if they didn't?

When Jack started towards her, Fawkes shook her head. There was no way in hell she was going there. He took Boots with him instead, thinking maybe that the youth would soften him up.

Fawkes was busy thinking about what she'd say to Cowboy when he got out that she didn't see a man coming up to her until it was too late.

"What's going on here?" He wanted to know.

Fawkes didn't have very good experience with grownups. And strangers sneaking up on her had never ended well.

It was clear that they were striking by the newsies milling about, still shouting "Strike! Strike! Strike!" In the direction of the New York World building.

She, however, did not want to get in trouble for starting or instigating it. She was in enough trouble as it was.

She nodded towards the boys chanting skywards, "Striking. The Newsboys are on strike."

"Huh," was the man's response, and he offered out his hand. "I'm Bryan Denton with the _New York Sun._ I saw you in the thick of things earlier. What's your name?"

Fawkes looked around her before responding.

"Fawkes, huh? As in Remember, remember the fifth of November?"

Fawkes nodded, allowing a small grin, "The gunpowder, treason, and plot."

"I see no reason why gunpowder or treason, should ever be forgot," Denton smiled as well. "Do you really think Pulitzer's going to listen to you?"

"Until I can get my hands on some gunpowder, a strike is the best we can do," Fawkes shrugged.

Just then, Jack got thrown out of the World building, shouting obscenities at the man doing the throwing.

Fawkes just wanted to fade into the background, but then Denton asked Jack to lunch, and Cowboy dragged her along.

"You are aware that you're going up against the most powerful man in NewYork City," Denton told them.

"He's one man, but we've got all the newsies in New York on our side," Jack replied. It was too confident a boast. They hadn't been to Brooklyn yet, and they didn't know how the other guys had fared in their respective missions."

"It's like this, Mister," Fawkes started, "Pulitzer's a man. Simple as that. He wants more money. We all do. He's asking for it from people who do the most for him, and yet, have the least. We're the reason he makes a profit in this town. Without us, sales will plummet. It'll take him awhile to realize this of course, because he's used to getting his own way, but in due course, we'll negotiate something worthwhile."

"Can I quote you on that?"

"As long as you don't make it sound like he's going to fold tomorrow. Then he'll hold out longer just to spite us," Fawkes made a face and Denton grinned.

"Do you really think we're worth writing about?" Jack asked.

"I think everyone is, given they find the right reason to get written about. You kids are trying to change the world. That's big. Kids, newsies, trying to get on an even keel with the people who have all the money and power in this city. I think that as long as you stick to your guns, fight for what you want and don't give up, you'll turn heads. That's worth writing about. People love inspirational stories. You're living one."

After the kids had eaten their fill, Denton told them he had to get back to the office and start typing the story up.


	6. Chapter 6

After he left, Fawkes and Jack loitered in the booth for a little while. "Ah, well, we best be on our way to Brooklyn," he sighed and slid out.

Fawkes didn't move, "I don't know what you were thinking earlier, but you know full well that I can't go to Brooklyn."

"You went yesterday with Race," he pointed out.

"Through there," she corrected.

"And the difference is..?" Jack wanted to know.

"I did not make contact with any of the newsies there, and if I thought an encounter was likely I took certain lengths to make sure such an interaction was avoided."

"Listen," Jack said, taking a seat again. "Brooklyn don't like nobody that ain't from there, and even then..." he trailed off.

Fawkes nodded. She'd lived there. She knew what he meant.

"They only like me once in a blue moon," he continued. "I want you with me because you know Brooklyn. If we have to make a hasty escape, for whatever reason, you'll get us out safely. That, and you're not a bad fighter. You fought Spot for your turf and he hasn't tracked you down yet."

"Only because I haven't stayed in one spot long enough to give him a chance," Fawkes replied.

"C'mon Fox," he told her, "you owe me."

When Fawkes glared, he shrugged, "I didn't want to, but you left me no choice."

Grudgingly, she stood.

The walk to Brooklyn was painful, but uneventful.

Jack tracked Spot down to the waterfront.

Fawkes kept her head down, her eyes trained on Cowboy's feet in front of her. "Well if it ain't Jack Sprat, it's been awhile since we chewed the fat—your wife looks pretty lean."

Cowboy shrugged, "Look at you-riverfront property. Living the life of luxury."

"I do what I can," Spot Conlon tucked his cane into a loop on his pants and approached, spitting into his hand and offering it out to Jack.

Jack spit on his own hand and shook.

"Who've you got hiding back there? Seems a bit meek for a bodyguard," Spot was looking over Jack's shoulder at Fawkes.

Jack pulled her forward, "This is an old friend of mine. Name's Fox."

Spot spit into his hand again and said, "We've met."

Fawkes followed his example and met his outstretched hand. Her cool eyes met his.

Jack was talking behind her, "Is there anyone in New York you don't know?"

"Teddy Roosevelt," she replied with a weak shrug.

Jack grinned.

"I'm guessing this isn't a social call," Spot preempted.

"You'd be right," Jack nodded.

Spot nodded as well and pulled out his sling shot, "I've been hearing things about you lot, was wondering if I'd be graced with your presence."

"What sort of things?" Fawkes wanted to know, worried that Snyder might have made another visit and knew their new aliases.

"That Jacky-boy's newsies are playing like they're going on strike." Spot's first shot went astray when she spoke, but his second one hit its mark.

"They're right," Jack agreed.

"Well sell it to me," Spot said.

"We aren't playing," Fawkes spoke up. "We are on strike."

Spot lowered his slingshot and she knew she had his full attention. She couldn't decide how she felt about that. She was supposed to be here as an exit strategy only.

Fawkes looked to Jack for help, but he just nodded at her to continue.

"We ain't exactly big numbers. We're talking to all the newsies, because the more kids we get on our side, the more likely we are to make a difference and actually get them big wigs to listen to us. Plus, the more of you who join us, the less of you we'll have to cross as scabs," she added coolly.

Jack elbowed her.

She took the hint. "Here's how it is. Life is hard all over, but twice as rough in Brooklyn. I know. I've lived here before. I got out. You survive on pennies a day, on a good day. Everybody looks down on you. But it doesn't have to be like that. We all stand together against those big newspaper men, and people will take notice. They might even respect us. But there's no way of knowing that unless we try.

"To get people's attention, we need as many newsies as possible to stand with us. We already got a journalist on our side, so it's entirely likely you'll get your name in a pape, if not your picture. The other newsies in other buroughs are talking to you because they know that Brooklyn's got a reputation. If you're with us, they'll join up too, because they know we'll come out on top when it comes to fists."

"So we're the muscle?" Spot said, crossing his arms.

"You can be whatever you want to be," Fawkes replied. "It's a known fact that Brooklyn's a tough crew. That's what they remember. It'd be a privilege and an honor to stand up with you boys again."

"I'm not joining up so my boys can be the first line of defense in your war on money. Your boys need to be able to stand on their own against whatever goons get thrown at you. They're gonna need it if you kids are serious about this."

"Your loss," Fawkes responded. "Figured you might want to stand for something. Make a name for yourself."

"I don't need to make a name for myself," Spot replied. "Everybody already knows who I am."

"Fair enough," Fawkes nodded. "C'mon Jack."

When they got back to Park Row, the other guys were already waiting.

"Where's Spot?" Racetrack wanted to know, looking behind Jack and Fawkes as they approached.

"I tried my best," Fawkes shrugged. "He just wouldn't see reason."

"She sold a pretty good argument," Jack admitted.

"Other newsies ain't gonna join up if Spot doesn't," Kid Blink said.

"He's probably just sore from you beating him up earlier this week," Racetrack patted her on the back.

Jack perked up at this information. "What do we need Spot for anyhow?" Jack wanted to know. "Fox cleaned his clock."

"Nobody knows about that but me and him. And you guys," Fawkes added with a shrug.

"Not anymore," Jack grinned and jumped up on the statue.

"No," Fawkes's voice was surprisingly strong, and it caught most of the boys by surprise.

Cowboy nodded and dismounted. "So what do you propose we do instead?" He wanted to know, leaning against the base of the statue.

Fawkes was saved from having to answer by the circulation bell ringing. "Anybody hear that?" She wanted to know.

Jack grinned and responded, "No!" He picked up on her cue, "What are we gonna do to those that don't hear so good?"

"Soak 'em!" She shouted back, and they led the charge through the gates.

No teenage boy, who'd lived his life on the streets like they did and got by by scraping, was going to turn down a little practice session.

They had quite a crew at their back, but there was still a sizable line that didn't get the memo about the strike.

The first few got wise real quick. One put down his papers, and the ones that followed didn't even buy them.

Then came the big guy. Fawkes knew right off he was gonna give them trouble. He'd even give Brooklyn boys some trouble. He stood at least a head higher than either her or Jack, and looked like he shoulda been working out on the docks.

He tried to sidle past. He avoided the space between Cowboy and Fawkes, who probably were the most troublesome looking of the bunch.

He tried between Kid Blink and Boots, on Kid's blind side. They pushed him back.

Then he tried between Race and Snipeshooter. To no avail.

He dropped his papers at Jack's feet, but came up with a sucker punch that had the Cowboy reeling back.

That was all it took. Fawkes took on the big guy, and shredded newspapers filled the air.

It was a free-for-all.

The brawling didn't last long and soon it was just the strikers causing mayhem-until they heard the tell-tale whistle of the cops responding to the scene.

Fawkes didn't need to be told twice. She lit out as soon as she heard the first whistle blast, when they were still some blocks away.

She didn't look back. She didn't stop running until she realized she was halfway to Brooklyn. She slowed down to a walk, but she kept going. She didn't have a destination in mind. She just needed to clear her head. This was happening a little too fast. They needed a strike. The newsies needed to be respected, but she wasn't a newsie. Not at heart. For her it was just a job. But she knew what it meant to the guys, she couldn't scab. It did mean she'd need another job.

She was kicking at the water, sitting at a dock on the East River when they found her.

"Fox! There you are!" Jack was breathless, but grinning ear-to-ear. "I can't believe how easily you wiped the floor with that big guy! He had to have been six and a half feet."

"At least," Race was nodding.

Fawkes just shrugged. "Brooklyn," was her response. "Knew a guy there with a similar build. Kind of grabby."

Jack ruffled her hair.

"What's wrong?" Race wanted to know, noticing she wasn't as gleeful as they were.

"Just thinking."

"About what?" Jack turned serious.

"The strike," She answered. "I feel for you guys. I really do. But selling papes isn't my life. "

"Are you scabbin?" Jack wanted to know.

"Quittin?" Race asked.

Here, Fawkes managed a grin, "What would you do if I did scab?"

"Run for cover," Race cringed.

"Consider the strike officially over," Jack sighed. "You aren't really?"

"Nah," Fawkes said. "I do need to pick up another job though."

"You'll still strike with us though, right? We're gonna need you," Jack told her. "Today we let them know we're serious."

Fawkes nodded, "I'll see what I can do."

"Factory?" Racetrack guessed.

"I was thinking the harbor," Fawkes shrugged. She let out a heavy breath, "What are you guys up to?"

"Since we have no income-" Jack started.

"We was hoping you'd help us swindle some folks out of their cash down at the races," Racetrack nudged her with a grin.

Fawkes thought about it and nodded. She'd never turn an opportunity to make money.

She started by helping Race choose better horses. He had a good eye for runners, but it's not just the horse who wins the race. Sometimes you have to look at jockey interaction. And always look at history.

They were on their fourth race. The final furlong. Fawkes had moved away from the boys. Race talked too much when he was nervous. It put Fawkes on edge.

Something wasn't right.


	7. Chapter 7

She was about to cash in for the fourth consecutive time tonight. She was good, but she was never this good. Something bad was going to happen. She could feel it.

It took her awhile to place the feeling of unease: she was being watched. She had noticed on their way through Brooklyn, but Racetrack's antics had distracted her. Now she could feel it again. Someone was standing just out of her line of vision. Someone too close for comfort.

She knew exactly who it was. "What do you want?" She asked, not bothering to turn around, still watching the race.

"Heard Race and some friends were hustling my boys out of hard earned cash. Came to see the source of the problem. Should have known you'd be involved," Spot Conlon approached the fence on her right.

"Not my fault they let themselves get duped. Even Race gets lucky sometimes."

"And you don't have anything to do with his winning streak?"

Fawkes shrugged, "I'm a good influence on him. He's gonna need a source of income now more than ever, what with the strike on."

"Yeah, I heard what you and the boys did up there today," Spot nodded. "You went toe to toe with a giant of a kid with shoulders on him like an ox. How tall would you say he was? Seven feet?"

"Six feet's more likely," Fawkes replied, disinterested.

"You don't seem keen about your victory," he noted.

"That was just one. Tomorrow there'll be more. This fight is far from over."

"You're not backing down?"

"It's not in my blood."

"Six feet, huh?"

"I don't really care about the height of boys in the scheme of my life," Fawkes told him.

"I'm just surprised is all," Spot shrugged at her icy tone. "Given your friends' propensity to improving the truth."

Fawkes shrugged, "They're newsies. It's what they do for a living."

"And how did you fall in with newsies? Jack's crew in particular?"

"Does it matter?" She asked.

"Hey Fox!"

Fawkes looked over to find Jack waving her over. It looked like Kid Blink and another newsie were with him.

"Do they know what you are?" Spot nodded in the direction of the boys.

"You mean _who_ I am?" She corrected. "Jack does. Me and Jack have known each other a long time."

"You like it there? With him?" Spot wanted to know.

Fawkes cast a sidelong glance at the Brooky, not sure what he was getting at, "I ain't seen him in awhile, so yeah, it's nice being around him again."

"You ever think of trying somewhere different?"

"I already been to Brooklyn. Don't look on going back."

"There's some pretty good food in Brooklyn," Spot tried.

"Same trick won't work twice."

"You know you gotta cross through Brooklyn to get back to your turf."

"I'm aware," was her cool response.

"Keeping that in mind: have dinner with me tonight and I'll forget this whole thing."

"Is that a threat?" She wanted to know.

"That depends on how you take it," Spot shrugged nonchalantly.

"Not gonna happen."

"Your funeral."

Getting out was going to be tricky, but not impossible. But she didn't want to call his bluff and get herself into real trouble. Being cocky would only incite more.

"Fox! What's the hold up!?" Racetrack was coming over.

"Think about it," Spot told her.

She told him a little less politely what she thought of his offer.

He shrugged, "I thought you might want Brooklyn on your side for the strike. After today's incident, you kids are in for a world of hurt."

"So it's like that?" She said.

"It's like that," he nodded.

"There's a reason I left Brooklyn," she told him. "I don't like being leaned on. I'll face fifty seven-foot men tomorrow, single-handed if I have to, just to get my point across." And with that she went to meet Race and the other boys.

"Who was that?" Race wanted to know, looking around her. "Looked like Spot."

"Did he want his hat back?" Mush grinned at the tweed cap in her hands.

"Maybe he heard about what you pulled off today," Kid Blink nodded.

"Did he want a rematch?" Racetrack asked.

"He didn't happen to say if he was gonna join up," Jack spoke quietly and Fawkes averted her eyes. Jack knew how things worked well enough to know that tomorrow wasn't going to be as easy as today.

"What's going on?" She wanted to know, nodding in the direction of the newcomers and shrugging off their questions about Spot.

Apparently, after their incident earlier in the day, the newsies had regrouped in a safe location. That was when they realized that Crutchy was missing. The gimp.

One of the boys claimed to have seen him caught between the bulls and the Delancey brothers. The brothers got to him first.

"What's the plan?" She asked.

"You know where he is?" Jack asked her.

Fawkes nodded. The one place they sent underage kids was Snyder's House of Refuge.

"You're coming with me to get him back."

Fawkes nodded again.

"Wait, why does Fox get to go?" Racetrack cut in.

"Because you're looking at the only two people to walk out of the Refuge on their own terms. I'd say we're the best options, unless you're volunteering," Fawkes replied.

Racetrack backed off.

She understood his concern. She had similar feelings of unease. She didn't like to hear the name of the place. She sure as hell didn't want to go there, but as far as qualified candidates went, there were too few in the running.

Picking a fight with Snyder wouldn't be wise, but she knew better than to discuss it with Jack. Once he'd made up his mind to do something, there was no turning back. This was something Jack had to do. It showed dedication and loyalty to his crew. That, and nobody should have to go to that place. Ever.

Fawkes felt a little bit like a fake. She'd never actually escaped from the Refuge. Her freedom had been obtained far beyond its walls. She did know the layout and how things worked well enough to be as good of an expert as there might be in such a situation.


	8. Chapter 8

They snuck in past the guard easy. They scaled the roof with no problem-all of it in silence. It wasn't until Fawkes was about to dangle Jack from three stories up that he decided to speak, "So what did Spot want?"

"Nothing important," Fawkes attempted to shrug before remembering she was Jack's anchor and that might not end well for him.

"Sure," he agreed. "I know you," he reminded her after she relented nothing. "He rub you the wrong way?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she responded.

"Ginger-" he started.

"You are aware that I am in control of your descent, Sullivan," she pointed out. "Do you want to kiss the ground or get Crutchy out?"

Jack shut up, but his narrowed eyes told her that this conversation was far from over.

She lowered him until he called out for her to halt. She heard muffled voices and then silence, and then, she was reeling him back up empty-handed.

"What's wrong?" She asked him as he disentangled himself from the rope.

"He wouldn't come with. Said the Delancey brothers worked him over pretty good."

"We coulda carried him," Fawkes shot back.

"Trust me, I tried that angle," Jack sighed. "Let's get out of here before we wear out our welcome."

Fawkes didn't need to be told twice.

Jack tried to invite her back to the Newsboy Lodge.

Fawkes declined, despite the fact there was Crutchy's vacated bed. She opted for a spot under the stars, near the river. She wanted to spend the morning looking for jobs on the docks. It was a logical place to spend the night.

No one on the docks would take her. She tried both sides of the river. They said she was too scrawny. Fawkes knew that that wasn't true. These arms had rebranded cattle that she'd rustled. She'd broken Mustangs. She was scrappy, yes. Scrawny? Definitely not.

She was skulking her way back to the proper side of the river when she saw the source of her problems: Brooklyn newsies, loitering on the periphery. Not selling newspapers. That was what made them so suspicious. When they weren't hawking papers, they just looked like hoodlums. Thugs. Trouble.

She had to get out of Brooklyn.

Fawkes put her head down and kept on walking.

Did that mean Spot had joined the strike?

He was waiting for her at the head of the Bridge. "Dinner?" He asked, much too casually.

"Wrong time of the day for that," she responded, trying to walk past him.

He held out his cane as a way to hold her at bay, "Not even for a business proposition?"

"I don't know why you keep talking to me," Fawkes admitted. "I don't make the deals, I only sell them. If you've got something to propose, bring it up with Jack, he's the leader of this rebellion."

"He's the leader," Spot made a sound akin to scoffing. "You're smarter than he is. What does that make you?"

"The muscle," Fawkes shrugged. "I don't mind. It means I don't have to put up with boys trying to sweet talk a deal out of me because they think that because I'm a girl I don't know how to haggle. Not only is that not true, they don't me have decision-making powers because I don't negotiate."

"I'm sure you've got more power than you think."

Fawkes blew out a breath, more than ready to be done with him. He'd completely ignored what she'd said. She didn't negotiate, not because she couldn't, but because she didn't settle. She went in for all or nothing. For her there was no in between.

"I'm making a good offer and you know it. All I want in return for Brooklyn joining up is dinner with you."

"Why?" Fawkes made a face.

"You're going to need the numbers. You're going to need bodies capable of withstanding a beating and giving some of it. The world works with the big guys stomping on the little ones until they go away. I'm betting on you and Jacky-boy. You've got heart and I like that. It means you won't go away so easy. But two hearts ain't much when it comes to muscle. You don't need to convince me, you need to make a sacrifice. I'm going to sacrifice my men for your fight. You're going to sacrifice your pride and have dinner with me."

It would be handy to have his crew, but did they need them? They might be able to get by without them. Fawkes didn't dislike the kid, he fought fair and he seemed to hear her out. It was his persistence that bothered her. She didn't want to spend any time with him that wasn't necessary. She risked discovery that way.

"I don't know if you know this, but I'm on strike. I don't have an income. Your boys are making it so I can't even get a backup job. Don't think you'll get a free meal out of me. I know you don't need it. You've got quite the smorgasbord in your neck of the woods. You don't need me around to eat it."

"True," Spot admitted, "but I wouldn't mind the company."

"You may be the King of Brooklyn, but I'm not in your crew. I won't bow to you. I've got other priorities: like leading this strike. You won't mind if I get back to it?"

"Get back to it? Or get back to Jack?" Spot wondered.

"Does it matter? Me and him are in this together. I need him for things just as he needs me. Without me, he wouldn't have been able to break into the Refuge last night to get one of our boys back."

Spot was silent a moment, "Does this mean you woulda come if you hadn't been otherwise engaged?"

"No," Fawkes said firmly. She pushed the cane out of her way and kept on walking, genuinely surprised when he let her go.

She made it safely to Manhattan and side-stepped into Medda's theater. She was working her way backstage when a heap of cloth ran headlong into her.

"What-?"

The cloth started to move on its own accord, and a gussied up woman with soft ginger curls was peering at her. "Ginger?" She asked.

Fawkes moved to finger the locks she no longer had and gave a sheepish grin.

The older woman swooped up the younger in a tight hug, "Jack never told me you were back in town! It's so good to see you!"

Fawkes couldn't help but smile at the warm welcome. Medda had fostered her and Jack on many a cold night. Not that the theater was much warmer, but it was better than being outside. "Ginger ain't exactly a name you want to go around shouting," Fawkes told her.

"You changed your name too," Medda nodded. "Seems appropriate, given you're a lot less ginger than when we first met," She tousled Fawkes' short hair.

"I'm going by Fawkes."

"What brings you to my neck of the woods? I'm guessing this isn't a social call given the way Jack burst in here earlier this week."

"Actually, I was looking for a job," Fawkes gave a shy sort of smile. She explained to Medda how they were on strike. Medda already knew about Ireland, so she knew why Fawkes wanted a job. "I'll do anything: sweep floors, serve drinks, whatever. I'll do it."

Medda smiled, "I can't say no to a face that earnest. Will they miss you on the 'front?" She jerked a finger to some place beyond the walls of Irving Hall.

Fawkes nodded, knowing what she meant, "I told Jack. He knows."

"Good kid," Medda smiled.

Medda got her set up with a broom and introduced her to a few essential staff, and then rushed on stage.

Life was quiet for a week or so. Fawkes made decent money working for Medda. As much as could be expected. If she was free, she met Race down at that tracks, or talked a little treason with Jack, but it was mostly just them beating up scabs. Nothing they couldn't handle. They were proving they were serious. All of Manhattan was on board. Bowery too. Harlem was in the works, but they were confident.

That was when Pulitzer finally realized the dip in sales. They came at the boys hard.

Fawkes had gone in early to have a chat with Jack and the newspaper man from the _Sun_. She hung around to join the daily charge on the scabs, as a way to brighten up her life.

This morning wasn't like those other mornings.

The scabs turned and ran, pounding on the large green doors beyond the gates of the circulation desk. The doors opened to reveal ranks of thugs, armed with more than bare fists. They had clubs, chains, and, who knew what else. Not a single one of them was younger than twenty, or weighed less than two hundred pounds. Fawkes certainly had her work cut out for her.

She knew turning back would be the smart thing to do, most of the strikers had, but she knew it was no use. Caught like a mouse in a trap, she heard the steel gates slam shut behind them. This was supposed to end it.


	9. Chapter 9

Fawkes unsheathed the knife she kept on her person and danced with the first thug dumb enough to try her. As luck would have it, her first opponent was armed with a length of chain.

Most fighters adhere to a code of conduct to try to keep things clean. That means, in most cases: fists, skill versus skill alone. Thugs don't live by those rules. They come armed to the teeth, and for them, winning is the only option. For a clean fighter, this is unfortunate because it means they are grossly overmatched with no chance of winning-as the newsies were quickly finding out.

Not Fawkes. She'd been in this boat before. She'd learned the hard way that not everyone was honest. She fought clean until her opponent dictated otherwise. It was better to be prepared than dead.

A knife versus a chain, however, was nowhere close to an evenly matched fight.

She risked the pain and consequences when the man lashed out with the chain. It wrapped around her arm. That wasn't all he caught, as he was soon to find out.

Fawkes had raised her arm to block the hit from hitting the softer parts of her body, but the length of chain tangled and Fawkes wasn't going to be bullied by a thug. She gave that chain a good hard tug. The thug wasn't expecting it and he stumbled, releasing the chain.

Mush was at her back and she called for his help when the goon realized he was losing his leverage. He pounced on the chain as she was pulling it in. Mush added his weight to the fight, ensuring the goon didn't get his chain back. The tug of war resulted in a victory for the two newsies. Their opponent got stampeded by retreating newsies.

A wave of thugs was advancing with baseball bats, clubs, hurleys, and whittled pieces of lumber.

Fawkes stepped up to the plate. She wielded her newly acquired weapon like a whip, snapping it at the thugs, making contact, causing them to recoil and the newsies to attack. She helped to steal weapons and armed the newsies with them.

She was only one person though, and she was the only one who seemed to be successful in her attack on the goons. They wisened up and started to focus their assault on her. Fawkes knew she wouldn't make it very long. Mush was still at her back, keeping her apprised of the situation as they became encircled. Fawkes lost sight of Jack almost as soon as the fight started. She didn't even know if Racetrack was still alive.

All of a sudden she heard Mush shout: "Hey! It's Brooklyn!" A hundred heads turned skyward. Fawkes didn't look. That's what she had Mush for. Distracted thugs made easy targets, and they were being weakened by another force.

Marbles. Slingshots. Her mind made the connection as she caught a ricochet to the temple. It was Brooklyn alright.

The newsies surged forward, seemingly recharged and newly inspired by the thought of help from Brooklyn.

She heard the front gates creak open and saw more newsies march in, wielding weapons of their own. Spot was at the head of the charge, his cane in the air like a rapier, pointing the direction of attack.

The thugs didn't stand a chance after that. They retreated back the way they came, and some fled altogether, bloody and bruised.

Fawkes couldn't help but feel the vibes of adrenaline as a result of the victory.

She saw Jack standing on the load-out area, a grin on his face. Fawkes made for him, a remark about his boyish appearance, ready on her lips. Other boys were gathering around him as well, congratulating each other on the victory. Kid Blink pulled her up, complimenting her on her skill with the chain.

Fawkes just shrugged. It wasn't all that much different than a whip, of which she had more than a little experience.

Jack saw her and his eyes widened. He reached for her and she grinned. "You!" He started.

A voice came from the side: "Boys!"

Fawkes looked and immediately regretted it.

While they had been reflecting on their win, Denton had set up his camera and as soon as he had their attention, the light flashed. He congratulated them on their win, and interviewed Spot, since it was his crew who had saved the day. They walked as they talked, Denton leading them to a nearby diner, where he promised them all a meal for a hard day's work.

Mush thanked her for keeping him alive, but Fawkes wasn't really paying attention. She was more interested in Jack and Spot's conversation. Their heads were bent together as they talked, an indication of a serious conversation. She couldn't hear a damn thing. There was some distance between them, sure, and the newsies were making one hell of a racket.

More than once they looked in her direction, which was what had Fawkes on edge. Did Spot know about her and Jack and the fact that they were fugitives? Was he leaning on Jack? Threatening him? Was their freedom at stake?

The question that bothered her more was how Brooklyn happened to be in the area to save the day. And most importantly: why? Brooklyn didn't owe Manhattan anything. She'd already made it clear that Brooklyn wasn't going to get anything out of the strike except for the glory of the win and a little more respect from the populace.

After awhile, Spot departed, taking one last look at Fawkes before doing so.

Jack and Fawkes watched each other for awhile before he approached, bringing with him an uneaten sandwich. "You haven't eaten anything," he told her, placing it in front of her and taking a seat.

"I'm not hungry," she responded, pushing it away. "Consider your peace offering a failure."

Jack shrugged, "There's no good way to make this not painful so let's just get it over with. We need to talk."

"About Spot?" Fawkes guessed.

"He knows who you are."

"Who we are?" Fawkes tried not to gulp.

"No," Jack was quick to reassure her. "Just that you're a girl."

"Oh, yeah," Fawkes relaxed briefly. Aside from him, only Racetrack and Jack knew. No one looked much further than a pair of upraised fists. There was too much trouble there as it was.

Then she remembered Spot was from Brooklyn and those boys didn't have much of a reputation for playing fair. "So what's his angle then? I don't much care if he outs me in Manhattan. I don't reckon they'll care. I'd just be worried about word getting back to Brooklyn. There can't be many chicks masquerading as boys and they'll work out that I'm the one they've been looking for."

Jack shook his head, "It's not quite that troublesome." He paused and took a deep breath, "He just wants someone to split a dinner with."

"Why can't you eat with him? You'll make better conversation."

Jack gave her a funny look. "I'm not one to question his choice in companion," he said after awhile. "But he requested you, and this is something I need you to do. It's all he wants out of us for joining the strike. We need Brooklyn, if today was any indication. Once we have them on board, the rest of the City will follow."

"You know I hate Brooklyn," Fawkes started.

Jack nodded, "It's one night. An hour of your life at most. If you're lucky. It's just a business transaction. Just dinner. After that you can do anything you want to do."

"Like deck Spot?" Fawkes wanted to know, trying to find him in the crowd.

"Well, I wouldn't recommend it, but sure," Jack shrugged.

Fawkes let out a resigned sigh, "When?"

"Tonight?" Jack cringed as he said it.

"You know I'm working tonight," she responded.

"Well, make it a quick meal. Less painful." Jack shrugged, "I figured the sooner the better."

"Yeah, yeah," Fawkes rolled her eyes. "I'm late for work as it is."

Apparently Jack spoke with Medda about her dinner plans because Medda not only gave her a few extra hours off for dinner, she tried to get Fawkes into her dressing room to try on an outfit and smear on some makeup.

"Not a chance," Fawkes told the older woman. "It's a business meeting. I don't need to get all dolled up. I don't even want to go."  
>Jack was waiting for her outside when she pushed through to the streets. "What the hell are we even supposed to talk about?" Fawkes wanted to know. "You know I hate discussing logistics and things with people I don't like."<p>

"You mean don't know," Jack corrected.

"That too," Fawkes replied.

"I don't think he'll want to talk about business," Jack told her.

"Then what's the point of this little get-together then?" She wanted to know, stopping Cowboy midstep.

Jack blew out a breath. He couldn't tell her the truth. Fawkes wouldn't believe him anyhow. "He's Spot Conlon. Head of Brooklyn. He's got a lot of power. People tread carefully around him because they don't want to upset or offend him and find themselves washed out to sea. You tell it like it is. You don't care what people think."

"And that's why he wants me to have dinner with him? So I can cut him down to size?" Fawkes wrinkled her nose and started walking again.

"Well, that or he likes your accent," Jack told her, jogging to catch up.

Fawkes jabbed him in the arm when he reached her. She was aware that she didn't speak like the locals. She had her time out west to thank for that.

Jack escorted the girl to a diner near Brooklyn.

She peered at him funny, "Here?" She was eyeing their proximity to the bridge, keenly aware that they hadn't crossed it.

"I'm not all bad," Jack told her. "During our time together, I've noticed you have a strong desire to go to Brooklyn on your own terms. One day we'll talk about it, but now is hardly the time. I negotiated, on your behalf, that you stay in Manhattan."

Fawkes could only gape at him. "Thank you." Her whisper was almost lost among the hub-bub of the street.

Jack grinned. He wanted to give her some parting words. Some advice. Maybe even some quips to take Spot down a peg or two. He had a notion that if anyone could say them and live, it would be Fox.

He didn't say anything though. They'd reached an accord. He didn't want to spoil it by talking. He tugged the brim of his hat in deference to her and walked away. He didn't plan to go far-just in case.

Fox was important to the strike. With her at his side, Jack felt he could say anything-that he could do anything. She wasn't scared of the repercussions. Jack kicked at the stone in the street. He still hadn't told her how fantastic she'd done against the thugs. Everyone had been ready to run, himself included. He'd looked over the ranks and seen Fox standing out, ready to fight the thugs with nothing but a knife. She'd been outnumbered today. She could have died, and yet, she stood her ground, She wasn't afraid.

What had she done in Brooklyn that made her fear going back? Why did she think they would recognize her? She had cut her hair. She had taken to wearing Spot's newsie cap instead of her cowboy hat. Did she think that would further the charade? Did they know she was from out west?


	10. Chapter 10

Fawkes watched Jack turn the corner and considered making a run for it. He trusted her too much. She couldn't do it. They needed Brooklyn. She knew this. She worried the more time she spent with Spot would result in him realizing who she was, if he hadn't already. Maybe she should try to explain it to him?

No.

He wouldn't believe her. He was from Brooklyn, after all. Loyalty first.

Fawkes took a deep breath and prepared to step inside the diner.

She pushed into the restaurant and saw Spot reclining in a booth not far from the door. A flickering candle on the table gave his face a golden glow.

Her step faltered when she saw him. She turned to look out the window. Was it too late to chase after Jack?

No, she had to honor this deal. They were going to need Brooklyn in this coming fight. They were going to need the solidarity and the muscle the borough could provide.

Why had Spot asked for her? Why was he always bothering her? Was it because she was a girl? Did he think she was weak?

She knew that wasn't true. She'd bested him in a fight. Were his constant intercessions part of his plan to get back at her? If that was his plan, why had he agreed to join Manhattan in their strike? He had done it after discussing something with Jack. Was the arrangement that she had to be out of the picture first? Surely Jack would never agree to that.

The thing she kept coming back to was that he knew. He had to know. Was he going to blackmail her? Was he going to drag her to Brooklyn? He was always so keen that she visit. They weren't terribly far from the line. Brookies wouldn't be considered suspicious if they were seen in this area of town.

"I noticed your escort," Spot said, standing. "Jack didn't want to leave you alone with me?" He was grinning.

"Does he have a reason not to?" Fawkes wasn't sure she wanted to sit. She had the height advantage here.

Spot sat back down, "Well, my intentions were mostly honorable."

Fawkes followed his lead, "It strikes me as odd that any part of you is."

Spot laughed, "That's what I like about you. Never afraid to speak your mind."

"That's what happens when you surround yourself with minions. They're too scared to voice their dissent. You should get out more often."

"Is that the reason you won't go back to Brooklyn?"

Play it cool, Fawkes told herself. She leaned back, "You tell me."

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," Spot admitted. "Everyone is afraid of Brooklyn. I don't think you are. You stood toe-to-toe with that seven foot man after he got the jump on Cowboy some days ago. You weren't afraid to stand up against those thugs when everyone else was considering making a run for it. It strikes me as odd that you've been telling me no, that you won't do me the honor of sharing a meal. I know you aren't afraid of me. You told me yourself that I couldn't use your desire for my newsies as leverage. You refused to be leaned on. Jacky-boy was a little more pliable."

Jack was going to grow up and make an excellent politician one day, Fawkes thought to herself. Even though she knew he'd made the deal, she couldn't hate him for it.

Fawkes closed her eyes as she tried to control her temper. Spot was the embodiment of what she hated about Brookies: they wouldn't stop at no. "I said no because me in Brooklyn is a bad idea. I said no because making sure this strike is successful is my priority. If you want to be friends, which is maybe why you suggested this dinner-because I make a valuable ally-listening when I said no would have done the trick. That's what I don't like about Brooklyn. They think the word 'no' doesn't apply to them."

"Brooklyn is a rough borough. Everyone tells us no. If we listened, we'd be starving in the streets. Instead, we take what we want. If I hadn't gone behind your back and got Jack to sign off on this-" he gestured to the table, "I wouldn't have known why you kept saying no. Now I do."

Fawkes let her jaw snap shut. He wasn't right. Why she didn't like Brooklyn wasn't any of his business. She was only telling him because he was a nuisance. If he'd been from any other burough, he would have given up by now. Brookies are drawn to what they can't have. Maybe she should have said yes earlier and gotten this over with.

No.

Brookies would take what they wanted whether you said yes or not. When you said yes, they thought they owned you because of it. If you said no, they never would, but they would try.

"I do what I want," Spot said. "Which is why I agreed to help you kids. The benefit is that I found a way to schedule time with you. The side effect is that my boys get to beat some folks up. It's one of their favorite hobbies, and they're good at it."

"Let's not talk about whether or not I fear Brooklyn," Fawkes said picking up her menu as a server headed in their direction. "We've established that I'm not afraid of you. That's what makes me stand out in a crowd."

The pair ordered and a silence fell. Fawkes desperately hoped that Spot wouldn't bring up Brooklyn again, but it was his burough. What else was he going to talk about?

Spot watched Fawkes carefully after the server left. Her copper hair was hidden underneath a tweed cap. His hat. Her pale eyes refused to look at him. He'd touched a nerve and he regretted it. He liked when she was feisty. He did not like this stony silence. Whatever her problem with Brooklyn was, he wasn't going to get it out of her. He just wanted to prove to her that Brooklyn wasn't as bad as all that. Something had scarred her there.

"Now that my boys are on board, what do you plan to do?" Spot wondered.

"Now that you're on board, everyone will follow. We'll probably hold a rally to show everyone how big our numbers are. That'll scare 'em. All the papers, all the buroughs on strike. That'll get someone's attention. Well, it ought to."

"Brooklyn joining isn't going to be such a huge deal once the rest of the buroughs find out what Manhattan's made of. You stood up against those thugs before you knew we were in the wings," Spot pointed out.

"I learned a long time ago that I couldn't count on anybody but me to save the day." She could see him itching to ask, "Did you learn that in Brooklyn?" The answer was yes, but being raised out west helped too. "Why did you decide to show up today?"

"I got a hot tip. I wanted to see what you guys were made of. I didn't want you guys getting all the glory."

Fawkes failed to stifle a grin. Boys always did care too much about their pride. "I noticed your boys on the docks the other day when I was looking for work. Did I think too much of myself when I accused you of being the reason for not getting a job?"

"Nope. See, I've got this thing called foresight. I hoped you kids would prove to us that you were serious, I had to be sure. I've got boys with families in my crew. They can't afford to go on strike. I made them pick up extra shifts down on the docks so they can survive while this is going on and support us at the same time."

Fawkes nodded.

"Did you end up finding work?"

"Yeah, me and Jack know this lady who owns a theater. She used to put us up on cold nights. She's letting me do some odds and ends and paying me for it."

Spot sent the girl a look, "Just how long have you known Jack?"

"I've been in and out of this city for five years now. I met Jack on my first trip. I was a fish out of water and he was just starting out. We relied on each other to survive. We're friends. More than that."

Fawkes didn't see Spot scowl. She was reminiscing. When she returned to Manhattan, she'd gotten a kick out of Race and Cowboy calling her Twin. Jack was the closest thing she had to family now. "He's like my brother," Fawkes grinned. Yeah, she liked the sound of that.

"You don't think he's after anything more?" Spot pushed.

Fawkes made a face, trying to figure out what he was implying. When she did, she laughed. "If he did, do you think he would have agreed to this?" What she'd experienced and what she'd seen from others was that men were a possessive lot. They didn't like to share their women.

"I didn't really give him a choice," Spot admitted. "I was surprised you showed at all since you seemed so dead set against it."

"I considered running. But I owe Jack and he really wants your guys on board. That's the only reason I'm here."

Their food arrived and the teens dug in. There were no words as they did all but lick their plates clean.

It was time for the check.

Fawkes eyed it dangerously, "Since you forced me into being here, I hope you don't expect me to pay."

"You're the one with a job still," Spot shot back.

"Pennies a day. You just quit," Fawkes pointed out.

Spot laughed, "I'll gladly pay. I didn't think you would let me."

Fawkes crossed her arms, "Why would you think that?"

Spot shrugged, "Something about your personality."

Fawkes couldn't decide if it was an insult. "I don't know what you do with your money, but I'm saving up what I can."

"Gonna go out west with Jacky-boy?" Spot guessed, laying out the money and standing.

"Already been there. I'm aiming to head east," Fawkes stood as well.

"There's nothing but trouble there," Spot noted. "Once you get past Brooklyn, it's all ocean."

"Did you know there's a continent across that ocean?"

"I've heard there's more than one," Spot remarked.

"Well, I'm aiming for one of those."

They exited the diner.

Not even thinking about it, Fawkes began marching into Manhattan. She had to get back to Medda's. After a few steps, she realized she had a tail.

Spot was ambling just behind her.

The girl turned on her heel, "Where do you think you're going?"

"With you."

"Why?"

"It seemed the gentlemanly thing to do. A lady walking out alone after dark…"

Fawkes stopped him by putting a hand on his chest, "What is it you think I need? Your protection?" She scoffed. "I'm not some helpless girl-" she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence, unable to look at Spot.

"What's going on here?" Jack slipped out of the shadows.

Fawkes turned toward the cowboy, "Spot's getting on my nerves."

Jack nodded like he wasn't surprised. "Looks like you both survived. She hasn't hit you yet, has she?" Jack asked Spot.

The youth looked puzzled.

"She threatened to," Jack explained.

"I haven't yet, but if he doesn't back off-" she threatened.

Jack grinned, "Let's give the lady some space. You know what they say about redheads and their tempers."

Fawkes glowered at the boy and strode past him, leading the way to Medda's.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, all the newsies met Denton at a diner not far from the World office. The newspaperman had a handful of copies of his paper.

Fawkes gulped when she wrestled a copy from someone and collapsed into a booth. Their story was on the front page. It should have been good news.

She couldn't bring herself to read the article. She was distracted by the photo that was front and center. It was the picture she'd barely noticed Denton take yesterday. She'd been reeling from one too many punches to the head. Now, she was able to fully comprehend how awful things were spiraling out of control.

Someone snagged the paper from her dazed grasp.

Fawkes stood, ready to fight.

It was Jack. He slid in beside her as she sat back down. He was perusing the article.

"How bad is it?" She whispered.

"Luckily, Spot's interview and the fact that Denton doesn't know who all is in this photograph is helpful. We're in the clear."

"Name-wise," Fawkes agreed. "We both know Snyder's going to get his hands on this paper. He knows we're in town, but he also likes collecting unruly kids to add to his Refuge. Our strike is a prime place to get new recruits."

Jack nodded. He didn't say anything. Fawkes could see a muscle in his jaw working. They'd come so far. They'd gotten people's attention. They were a front-page story. They couldn't just up and walk away to save their skins. They had to see this through. Who else would lead the strike?

Spot slid into the booth opposite them and grabbed the paper from Jack's hands. He grinned at the picture and made a smart remark neither Fawkes, nor Cowboy paid any attention to. The leader of Brooklyn read the article and leaned back, "Denton's not half-bad."

Fawkes and Jack remained silent.

"Did I ruin a moment?" He looked between the pair of them.

They didn't respond.

Spot looked back to the photo. Jack was in the center of the group, Spot was beside him. Fawkes was on the edge of the group-very close to that kid with one eye-Kid Blink. He made a face. It didn't mean anything. Spot only ever saw her with Race and Cowboy. The photo didn't give anything away. It looked like Blink had pulled her in at the last moment. If he hadn't she wouldn't have been in the photograph at all.

"What's next?" He rolled up the paper and that seemed to bring them back to life.

They agreed to keep picketing the circulation centers, fending off thugs if necessary.

In the afternoon, Fawkes slipped off to work at Medda's, still a little off.

She didn't notice Jack slip in. Spot followed him.

It was a good plan. There was no way Snyder could sift through all the boys during a picket, and he'd have to pick the right circulation center. Staying at Medda's kept them off the streets.

Fawkes didn't know why Spot came. Probably to plan. They discussed rally options: where and when, and other such details.

It was getting late, which is normally when the crowd got rowdier.

Fawkes had taken to wearing a simple dress and one of Medda's scarlet curly wigs while she waited tables. She'd learned that the customers tip better when they're being served by a girl. The downside was that they got grabby sometimes.

A bigger guy pulled Fawkes into his lap after she delivered his table a round of drinks.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spot, and then Jack, get to their feet.

She didn't need their help.

"Sir," she began, "if you'll kindly unhand me…"

"I'd much rather you keep me company," was his deep reply.

"Well, I get paid to wait the tables, that's it." Fawkes had noticed that there were other ladies who frequented the place who had more questionable occupations. Had he confused her with one of them?

"That's fine," the man rumbled.

"I don't think you understand." Fawkes stomped hard on his foot and jumped out of his grasp, "There are other tables that need waiting on."

The man didn't pursue her and Fawkes continued to the next table.

Tonight just wasn't her night.

Another guy got grabby. The first guy saw and they got in a shoving match. Fawkes rolled her eyes and prepared to dive into this mess.

She pulled back at the last second as the drunks crashed through a table. If she joined the brawl, they'd only destroy more things. Medda would not appreciate that.

Fawkes eyed the crowd, they looked the blue collar type. The stage was in between sets. She'd seen out west that a strong voice could stop a brawl. It was a long shot.

"_Near Banbridge town in the County Down_

_One morning last July_

_From a boreen green came a sweet colleen_

_And she smiled as she passed me by_

_She looked so sweet from her two bare feet_

_To the sheen of her nut-brown hair_

_Such a coaxing elf sure I shook myself_

_For to see I was really there..._"

Fawkes's voice was low and tentative at first. She couldn't afford to be timid. She had to be bold. Only a strong voice would get and hold their attention.

By the time she'd hit the chorus, the fighters had stopped. They were watching her, their jaws on the floor.

Fawkes knew she couldn't stop. She saw Medda rush onstage. The Swedish Meadowlark joined in time for the second verse, and by the second chorus, half the place was singing the song.

At the end of the song, the two brawlers were escorted out and Fawkes did her part to clean up the mess.

The next act went on and Fawkes continued on her way.

She didn't get far.

Medda found her near the bar, "What was that?"

Fawkes looked at the floor, "I didn't want them to the destroy the place. I did the first thing I could think of to distract them."

Medda grabbed the girl's chin and forced their eyes to meet, "You did well. That was quick thinking." She paused, "Also, how come you never told me you had a set of pipes like that?"

"I didn't know," Fawkes whispered. "I sing to myself mostly. Quietly. At night."

"All this time you've been barely scraping by as a newsie? You coulda been working here. I could give you your own act."

"I don't know if I could do that," Fawkes admitted. She used to sing to herself out west to pass the time, but she couldn't make a career out of it. It was the moment of panic that had given her strength.

"Finish your shift out here tonight, but tomorrow I want to see you backstage." Medda grinned at Fawke's panicked look, "We'll try you out with one song, see how it does. If the folks like you, and fear hasn't stopped your heart completely, we'll discuss it more."

Fawkes nodded and Medda returned to the stage.

Jack was the next to speak to her, "I haven't heard you sing since-" He was all smiles.

Fawkes shrugged him off. She knew full well. Back when her identity wasn't a thing she needed to hide. She used to sing to the little ones in the Newboys Lodge in Manhattan. It used to send them off to sleep easier.

She used to sing in Brooklyn too. Which is why she couldn't look at Spot.

The song she'd chosen, Star of the County Down, was a traditional Irish song. There were a lot of Irish in Brooklyn, so maybe he wouldn't think it peculiar. Her name wasn't overtly Irish. She just had her red hair to give her away.

When Spot did not approach her, Fawkes knew she'd finally done it. She'd confirmed his suspicions. She'd outed herself. If he hadn't followed her here, he might not have figured it out. Fawkes refused to let herself look for him, to try to explain. He was probably halfway to Brooklyn now, rounding up a posse.

At the end of her shift, Fawkes trudged out into the night.

"I don't know why I didn't see it earlier."

Fawkes nearly jumped out of her skin. Spot was in the shadows of Irving Hall, leaning up against a box of old props. Part of her wanted to deny it. Part of her didn't know if she could.

"See what?" She decided to ask.

"Your beef with Brooklyn. It was a dead giveaway." Spot sent a sidelong glance in her direction. Even though he had a baby face, there was wisdom in those eyes. She wasn't going to be able to slip anything past him. Not now that he was wise to who she was.

"How come you're here and not on your way to Brooklyn to get reinforcements?" Fawkes wondered, feeling frozen in time.

"How do you know I haven't already been?"

"I don't," she admitted. "But why would you be wasting your time chatting with me if you had?"

Spot pushed off of the wall and approached the girl. His face was still obscured by shadow. "I guess I want to give you the benefit of the doubt. Everybody in Brooklyn thinks they know how it went down, but of the people who were there, the only one we can talk to is you."

Fawkes wished she could see his face. She'd be able to gauge what he was thinking better. "Why would you believe me? The rest of Brooklyn wants to hang me. They don't want to know the truth."

Spot laughed at the flint in her voice. "That's the reason it took me so long to recognize you. You're tougher now."

Fawkes made a face, "Can you blame me? I had to be."

"Why'd you come back if you knew my boys had it out for you?"

"This is the easiest port of call to get out of. I'm wary of Brooklyn, but there's other boroughs I can make a living in."

"You're supposed to be in jail."

"I was. You think Jack's the only one who can escape?"

"Jack's crime was nothing compared to yours," Spot noted.

"Suddenly you know so much about me," Fawkes squared off against him, folding her arms.

"In your cowboy outfit and new personality, you're almost unrecognizable. The short hair and pretending to be a boy helps too, but the singing gave you away."

"Yeah?" There was a challenge in her voice.

"I was on my own for the first time when you were last in Brooklyn. You used to sing to the kids who weren't used to being without their parents."

That's why she remembered his name!

"I used to have the biggest crush on you."

Fawkes took a step back. Was that why he kept asking her to dinner? She'd thought it was so much more sinister.

When she didn't say anything, Spot continued, "Turns out, I've got a thing for redheads."

The girl couldn't bring herself to grin. She shook her head instead. "Now that you think you know who I am, what are you going to do about it?"

There should have been fear in her voice. Instead, there was hint of a fight. Spot knew she could hold her own. He was soft on her. He wasn't going to rat her out. It was only going to be a matter of time before his boys found out. "I'm not going to do anything. What's done is done. If not for you, I wouldn't be in charge of Brooklyn now. But it's not safe for you to stay in the city. You should get out."

Fawkes balked, "Don't tell me what to do. Me and Jack started this strike. You can bet we're going to see it through to the end."

"Our picture is in the papes now," Spot replied. "You're wanted. Jack too. How long before the folks that want you come round to collect you?"

Fawkes hated that he had a point.

"Jack wants to rally here. Do you think it's a good idea?"

"I think it's a good idea to have an exit strategy," Fawkes said. She'd talked it out with Jack. So far, Denton's _Sun_ was the only paper covering them. They needed to go big to get the city's attention. A rally with every newsie in the city was a lot of bodies. Someone would have to notice.

Fawkes was keenly aware of Spot's words. People would notice them, and not people they wanted. There were a ton of newsies though. They might provide just the right amount of anonymity. The cops would have to get through a lot of newsies to get to them. That just might give them the time they needed to get away.


	12. Chapter 12

After spending her morning with the newsies, Fawkes met Medda in the dressing room. the trim woman was standing beside a row of wigs, a mirror behind them. Off to the side was a rack of dresses.

Medda was grinning at her, "I was thinking we'd start you off with one song. You can sing it at the end of the night when folks are too drunk to care. That should ease your nerves. You can sing a sad song and then we'll close down."

Fawkes didn't say anything. She'd get paid better as a performer. If her talk with Spot was any indication, she needed to get out of New York, sooner, rather than later.

"First, we should talk about how we're going to bill you. You'll need a flashy performing name. Not to mention an attention-grabbing outfit," the woman gestured to the items at their disposal.

The full extent of how well this could hide her identity became suddenly clear. If she was smart about this, and avoided Snyder throughout the strike, Fawkes could assume this identity and avoid Brooklyn and the Refuge, and book passage to Ireland.

She nodded and Medda swept over to the rack of dresses. She pulled out a crimson dress that was more than risque. It had a low cut top and was sleeveless. It was bulky on the bottom though. "What do you think of this?"

Fawkes wasn't aware that she was making a face, "I think I'm a redhead. I can't pull that off."

Medda laughed, "You're only a redhead if you want to be."

Fawkes's attention was drawn back to the wigs with various hair shades. She tried all of them.

They settled on one that was made of wavy dark brown hair-so dark it was nearly black. "I like it," Medda was nodding at the mirror. "It makes your eyes stand out." She paused and a smile slipped across her features, "We'll call you Colleen, the Black Irish Balladeer."

"Black Irish," Fawkes scoffed. It was a term given to people with Spanish heritage who'd washed up on Ireland's shores.

Medda was grinning broadly now, "If you sing half as good as you look, you might change how people in this city view your immigrant brethren."

Fawkes blew out a breath. She'd never counted herself as an immigrant. She wasn't born in America, but her memories here were all she knew. Her mother had brought her over as a babe.

Fawkes was a hit with her mournful ballads. Every night, Medda moved her to an earlier time so she could encounter a larger audience.

As the days passed, Jack worked out the details with Medda about using her place as the base of operations for the rally. In the mornings, Fawkes went with the boys to squash scabs. In the afternoons, she worked the tables at Medda's and sang a song or two.

Medda recruited her to perform for the rally. She was one of the few people who'd be willing to do it for charity. A lot of the other folks wanted to get paid for their time. Medda couldn't do the whole show by herself.

As Colleen, Fawkes had no fear of being recognized. She agreed immediately.

The day of the rally, Fawkes met the boys at the square as usual. They'd rolled some scabs, but it was nothing they couldn't handle. The man behind the circulation desk didn't like it. Everyday they called the cops earlier and earlier to try to disperse the mob.

The second she heard the whistle, she lit out. She tore around the corner and heard a name meant for her.

"Connie!"

It wasn't a question. It was a demand, and that low rumble could only belong to one person.

Fawkes pulled up short and looked wildly around, not disbelieving her ears. It was shock that got the best of her.

Newsboys rushed past as they dispersed, some of them tugging her in their direction as they went.

She had no reason to respond to the name-if it had been any other voice. "Mackey?" She asked, making her way in the direction of the speaker. If she saw him then she would know she wasn't going crazy. At the same time, a small part of her brain was telling her to run. Run while she still could.

Her search took her to a side alley where she found the unmistakable form of Patrick Mackey. He'd always been a big guy-tall and barrel-chested. He seemed bigger than she remembered. He'd always been destined for a life as a dockworker. He used to be the head of the Brooklyn chapter of newsies. Now he was over twenty. He'd aged out (kids sold papes better, the bigger and thuggish you looked, you didn't do so well).

"Hey kid," he almost smiled.

"What are you doing here-?" The disbelief evident in her voice. He wasn't supposed to be here. Fawkes amended that thought. Technically, neither was she.

"I could ask you the same thing." His tone was as smart as ever.

"I meant Manhattan," Fawkes said narrowing her gaze. "The boys in Brooklyn want me dead cuz of you."

He nodded, "Sounds about right."

"But you're out! You could tell them!" She paused as she watched him. "They don't know," she deduced. "Why-?"

"Does it matter? There's someone competent in charge there. That's the way it works."

Fawkes shrugged. She knew he was right. Mostly, she just wanted her name cleared. She was sick of Brookies wanting her head on a pike for something that was not entirely her fault.

"Listen, the Bulls are gonna be coming down on this place hard. Let's take a walk," Mackey suggested.

That was when Fawkes realized Mackey's bulk was being disguised by a police uniform. "Nice cover," she commended him, and against her better judgment, she started walking.

She wished she felt better about this situation. Seeing him was supposed to take a load off her chest. Instead, she felt her lungs struggling more. She should be halfway to Harlem by now.

Why wasn't she?

Because Mackey wasn't a guy you said 'no' to. She'd learned real quick to shut up and do as he said when she was younger. Time had changed her, but for some reason, being in the company of certain people makes you regress to previous behaviors. Mackey's size was not one you wanted to challenge. Not then, not now. Which made her more than a little curious. Things hadn't ended well between them-so why did he seek her out? Why had she agreed to this stroll? Back there had been witnesses. Now there was no one.

Fawkes stopped as she realized this mistake. She knew his temperament. He was capable of holding one hell of a grudge. There was no way he'd let her get off scot free. "How'd you get out?"

If she remembered correctly, he was supposed to serve twenty years, first in the Refuge, and then real prison-which, Fawkes had on high authority was more difficult to escape from.

When he didn't answer, Fawkes dared to look at him. She'd been avoiding it. He had much more weight to throw around. She stood no chance in a brawl. She'd have to run for it. She knew that. It was the only way she'd escape.

When their eyes met, Fawkes's attention was caught by a brass whistle between his lips.

She struggled to find words. Her brain was busy processing this whole situation. She had to say something. She had to prolong the time before that shrill sound pierced the air and backup arrived.

It was clear now that Mackey hadn't escaped. He must have made a deal with Snyder. Maybe working with him would reduce his sentence. Mackey liked beating people up-he had fists like sledgehammers, Fawkes remembered that much. He had been the king of Brooklyn. A power trip like that was hard to forget. How was it possible that Brooklyn didn't know? Fawkes asked him, letting out a tiny sigh of relief when he spoke around the whistle.

"I tend to frequent Manhattan and areas north, " was the response.

Fawkes's eyes lit up as she realized she could out him. He realized it too and blew the whistle.

In close proximity, it was deafening.

Mackey dropped the whistle from his lips and grinned as Fawkes shook the sound from her ears. Could she hear feet on the cobblestones or was she just imagining it? She didn't wait to find out.

She was clumsy as she moved to flee. Mackey realized what she was about to do and reached for her. He knew that once she got her feet under her, she'd be gone. She wasn't superfast, but she was faster than him. She always had been. She had less weight to carry.

"I make a better friend than an enemy!" He called after her.

Fawkes stopped at the end of the block and looked back to see his reinforcements beginning to arrive, "So do I."

Mackey looked confused, "You're just a newsie. I'm the one with the power."

"You always had the power, Mackey."

"Now I have the law on my side."

The bulls were pulling level with him and Fawkes kicked back into gear. She turned the corner and raced up a fire escape. She got to the roof just as they started up the stairs. As she sprinted across the rooftops, she backtracked, determined to get to Harlem, hoping to at least make it to Midtown before they caught up with her.

Fawkes didn't make it to Midtown. The bulls were patrolling all the streets north of the circulation center, like they knew that was her plan. Of course they did. Mackey was making it impossible for her to go to ground. Fawkes was planning to run to Medda's. Now she couldn't. Her only option was to get caught, or take her chances with Brooklyn.


	13. Chapter 13

The girl chose Brooklyn. Spot had said he wasn't going to rat her out.

There were no cops on her way to Brooklyn. Fawkes knew why: it was a lawless place.

A pair of Brooklyn newsies were waiting on their side of the bridge when she crossed. She put her head down and marched along the docks, looking for Spot.

"What are you doing here?" His voice came from somewhere high.

When Fawkes looked up, she saw him watching her from a fire escape. "I need to talk to you."

That was enough to pique his interest. Spot pulled up his suspenders and meandered down to ground level.

"I seem to recall you not wanting to step foot in Brooklyn if you didn't have to."

"That was a concern," Fawkes agreed. "And then I saw Mackey."

Spot froze and a moment later, his cane jumped out in front of her, halting her as well. It forced the girl to face him. "Mackey's supposed to be serving a murder sentence. Wrongly accused if you believe the hype," Spot eyed her knowingly.

"Exactly. So why would I see him wearing a policeman's uniform in Manhattan today?"

"Because you were hallucinating."

"I wish."

"How come no one knows?" Spot wondered.

"He told me he's stayed out of Brooklyn. Maybe when he flipped it was a condition?"

Spot poked her suddenly with his cane, "This means you can come out of hiding."

"No. The Irish aren't a forgiving people."

"What do you mean? If he's not in jail, you're in the clear."

"Mackey only revealed himself to me because he thought it would be enough of a distraction to get me captured. I couldn't get north out of Manhattan. They blocked off my escape routes like they knew where I would go. That's why I came here. He knows I shouldn't be in Brooklyn. I don't think he expected me to do it. I'm not the same girl I was three years ago. He's about to find that out if he hasn't already. I never would have been so bold as to lead a strike three years ago and here I am."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Go to the rally tonight and warn Jack. He's probably their next target."

"But if you know they're going to crash it-"

"They're looking for a girl named Connie, maybe they'll be looking for Ginger and Morgan. They might be looking for a short-haired redhead named Fawkes. They won't find any of those. The only person showing up is Colleen, the Black Irish Balladeer."

"Seems I heard that name around a time or two," Spot grinned. He'd been hanging around Jack at Medda's place. He knew about her newest identity.

Before, it would have bothered her. Knowing he didn't care about her past made it a lot easier to trust him. "I thought you only had a place in your heart for redheads?" A knowing smile slid across Fawkes' face.

"That Colleen? She's got a sweet set of...pipes."

Fawkes pushed him and his innuendo away, "Get out of here."

"This is my turf," Spot shoved her back with his cane, but he was still grinning.

Fawkes laughed.

The girl made her way back up to Manhattan.

There was no longer a cop on every street corner.

Fawkes pushed into Medda's where the local crew of newsies was helping Jack prepare for the night.

"Jack."

Cowboy's head snapped up. As soon as his hazel eyes locked onto her grey ones, an invisible weight left his shoulders, "Where have you been?"

Fawkes let out a breath, "We need to talk."

Jack immediately dropped what he was doing and walked towards her, "We worried you got taken by the Bulls or the Delancey brothers. Racetrack's out following a lead that you were with the Bulls-"

"That's what I need to talk to you about," Fawkes said.

"Have you-?" Jack couldn't bring himself to ask.

"I haven't flipped. You know me better than that."

"But there's stuff I don't know about you-" he pointed out. He was referencing her time in Brooklyn.

"That's not who I am. And we're about to rectify that. C'mon," Fawkes led the way to a private dressing room Medda had been letting her use. It was little more than a closest. It barely had enough room for a rack of fancy dresses, a vanity, and a chair.

Fawkes hopped onto the vanity, her back to the mirror.

Jack dropped into the chair.

"When you and I parted ways, I got sent back west to work for the ranch I'd rustled cattle from. They were not nice folk."

"Of course not, you stole from them."

Fawkes narrowed her eyes at her friend. "I was supposed to work as restitution. The money I would have made was to compensate them for their lost cattle. I didn't like the way they treated me so I stole a horse and made my way east. I picked up small jobs and convinced myself that I could live on the straight and narrow. Running out on my sentence wasn't going to end well, and being clean was the only way to avoid detection.

"I got work running horses at a ranch upstate. They like to bring their horses to Coney Island to race and one day, they decided to bring me along. They thought I'd earned it. I was scared at first, coming back, considering how we left. I explained to the horsefolk my plans to head to Ireland. They didn't like the idea of leaving a teen-aged girl in the City, but I told them I'd been here before and that I could take care of myself. I met Race, and he introduced me to the Brooklyn newsies.

"I thought things would be like they had been with you and me. The leader of the crew, a guy named Patrick Mackey offered me his protection. It meant I had to give him a cut of my proceeds, but then I would have two hundred brothers at my disposal. I took the offer. I didn't think anything of it. I started selling on my old turf again, which caused a stir because it wasn't in Brooklyn, but it was close enough. I figure they let me slide because I was a girl and they thought I was new to the newsie world.

"Mackey paid me a lot of attention. Back when we were thirteen, we were just kids. When I was out west, I was so low on the totem pole, I was virtually ignored. Mackey made me feel special. He'd do me favors and in return-" Fawkes couldn't bring herself to say it. When she was fifteen, she hadn't fully understood the ramifications of what she'd been a part of.

"I made him happy," she said at last, knowing that did their relationship no justice. "But then he got possessive. He turned ugly. He threw Racetrack out of Brooklyn because he didn't like our friendship," Fawkes told him as a prime example. "I didn't like what he turned into. I wanted to get away, to go to Ireland, but Mackey wouldn't let me handle my own money. He knew I would run if I had it. He wasn't stupid and that was a damned shame.

"Mackey was dangerous when he was angry. I learned from the others to keep my head down and I'd be okay, but that didn't always save me. He'd slap me around if I shied away too much. If he didn't think I was being affectionate enough. If I looked too long at another boy.

"I wasn't the same girl I am now. I avoided conflict, but it didn't always work. Mackey was looking for it and he'd make some if he couldn't find it. He used to...he used to force himself on me. I think he liked it better that way." Fawkes couldn't look at Jack. She didn't want to see the look in his eyes. She had to tell this story so that Jack would know what they were dealing with. That was the only reason.

"I wasn't used to the idea of boys finding me attractive or fighting over me. I figured it was just because I was an available body and they didn't have much for choices." Fawkes took a breath, the one upside was that Mackey had kept her to himself. He could have treated her worse. Given her to any boy who wanted it. "I managed to run off one night to Coney Island. I figured Mackey would kill me or Race when he found out, but I had to apologize. I didn't know Race had moved to Manhattan. The leader of Coney Island liked the look of me and tried to have his way with me.

"Somehow Mackey knew what I was up to. He caught the guy from Coney Island and roughed him up for daring to touch his property. Left him dying in the street. He beat me up pretty good too for running, or getting caught, I still don't know, but I fought him off as best I could. It was the only time I'd ever actually stood up to him. I told him I wasn't going back. He might have killed me too if that boy from Coney Island hadn't been so hard to put down. As it was, he was struggling and I was fresh. I laid him out and promised myself that I wouldn't ever let myself live like that again. Given how things were, I decided getting out of town was something I should do sooner rather than later. I caught the train out of Coney, but passed and and had no way to pay the fare. That's how the bulls got me.

"They sent me back west to answer for the cattle and the horse-again. And I heard Mackey got charged with murder. None of the Brookies liked him, but they were loyal. They believed that I turned him into the police and ran. They don't know that I've got charges of my own."

Silence seemed to stretch on for infinity. "Why are you telling me this now?" Jack's voice was quiet.

"Because I saw Mackey this morning. He's a cop now. Probably works for Snyder."

"Did he see you?"

"Yes. I reckon we have our picture in the paper to thank for our fame. He had an entire unit at his disposal, which is why I couldn't get here earlier. I think they'll be here tonight. For both of us."

"Do you have a plan of attack?"

"That's where you come in."

Jack stood and before Fawkes had time to react, he embraced her. For a heartbeat of time, the girl was frozen in place. Slowly, her arms wrapped around the boy and hugged him back.

"He's the reason you won't sleep with us at Kloppman's," Jack's voice was an understanding whisper.

"Anywhere where the boys outnumber me and exits are limited," Fawkes agreed.

Jack pulled away and grinned at her, "He's also the reason you fight men twice your size with no fear."

"I don't intend to thank him for it," Fawkes made a face.

Jack laughed and put his hands on her shoulders, "No. You took that fear and you conquered it. He made you think you were weak. We both know you aren't. He had to make you think you were weak so he could control you. But you never were. I may not have been there, but I know that. You're strong. You always have been."

Fawkes squeezed her eyes shut to halt the tears that suddenly threatened.

"Any other kid would have died from that beating you took when you first came to New York. Not you. You're too stubborn, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Now you're fighting Brookies and leading strikes."

Fawkes wiped her eyes on her sleeves, "That's nice and all Cowboy, but it doesn't solve this mess we're in. We've both invested too much into this to just walk away."

"I'm all ears."

"I can't be the only one coming up with ideas. We're a team Sullivan."

Jack made a face at her. He didn't like when she used his other name. She understood the why. It was a matter of self-preservation, but when it was just the two of them…


	14. Chapter 14

*Author's Note: Sorry for this tiniest of chapters! It's just the way I cut it! Thanks for the reviews! They help keep me going! I am about to sit down and write the final scene! Wish me luck! Thanks again!*

The door to the dressing room burst open and Racetrack exploded onto the scene, "Jack-I couldn't-but I heard-" the boy bent double as he tried to catch his breath.

The pair turned to face the struggling boy. "Looks like you need to quit smoking," Fawkes grinned.

"You-" Race gasped.

"Yeah, she turned up," Jack shrugged.

"I always do," Fawkes nodded.

"Not always," Jack reminded her.

"I heard-Patrick Mackey-isn't in jail-worse-he's a cop," Race was still having difficulty breathing.

Fawkes grinned, "I'm the one who told Spot that. I'll bet he took credit for it."

Jack gave her a look, "You've been to see Spot already this morning?"

"Mackey and his friends made Brooklyn the only place I could go and not get snatched."

"He knows who you are?" Race's voice cracked, but his breathing was becoming more regular.

Race was referring to Spot. "Yeah, he figured it out a couple nights ago. When I broke up that fight," Fawkes nodded to Jack. He knew the one she meant. "He told me the reason he didn't put two and two together was because I was so docile before. I am anything but now. Singing gave me away," Fawkes laughed.

"And he-?" Race was making a worried face,

"He doesn't care," Fawkes answered simply.

"Of course he doesn't," Jack laughed.

Fawkes shot Jack a look. It was part confusion, but realization was beginning to dawn. "Are you laughing because you know he has a self-proclaimed soft spot for redheads?"

"I'm laughing," Jack managed between chuckles, "because you're only now just realizing it. That's why he wanted to go to dinner with you. That's probably why he let you have your turf back,"

Fawkes was not amused. She stood stock still, shoulders thrown back, trying to make the most of her height. Jack Kelly wasn't a short kid and she knew he could brawl. He was the closest thing she had to family: a confidante and a friend. She loved him to death, but sometimes, he could say the wrong thing. "You think he _let_ me win?" Her voice was dangerously quiet.

Jack's laugh cut off immediately, "Of course not. I don't think he knows how to lose on purpose. I do know that's the reason he didn't jump you every chance he got to rectify it. If any one of us had fought him and by some miracle came out on top, he would never let us live to tell the tale."

"And you encouraged him to chase me?"

"I didn't know about your history with boys in Brooklyn," Jack apologized. "It was fun to watch."

Fawkes waved it away. She was over it now. They had bigger problems.

"You told him?" Racetrack looked flabberghasted. This time Race was referring to Jack.

"I told him what really happened. I needed all our cards on the table. Snyder, Mackey, and a whole bunch of cops are going to turn up here looking for me and Jack. It could be they're here to bust us for previous crimes. It could be that they're going to trump up new ones. We won't know till they turn up. I do know that I've gotten too used to freedom to go back. If you've got some ideas to keep us out of the Refuge, I'd appreciate that."

"What's Mackey doing out?" Racetrack wondered.

"Working for Snyder is my best guess. He's a cop now."

"You-" Jack started.

"Yes?" Fawkes asked uncertainly.

"You have a thousand identities and we're standing in a theater. I'm sure you can come up with something."

Fawkes didn't respond to this statement. Instead she said, "Don't you have a rally to plan?"

Racetrack had recovered his breath, "Why did they say you were with the bulls then?"

"Because in order for me to find out what the hell Mackey was doing on the streets, I had to talk to him. Being where he is one, that means I had to go along with him. But I'm here now. You got a problem with that?"

Race shook his head. He dismissed himself.

Jack didn't stay long. He pulled on his hat as he stood in the open doorway. "There is one problem we haven't discussed."

Fawkes raised a brow in question.

"You're as much a part of this strike as I am. I know being Colleen will make you feel safer, but folks are gonna think it odd if you don't turn up before the show starts."

Fawkes blew out a breath.

He was right. Her loyalty would be called into question. What did she have to fear? They were already expecting to the cops. "Okay."


	15. Chapter 15

At sundown, newsies from every borough crammed into Irving Hall. Fawkes had never seen the place so packed. Each group had a sign proclaiming their origin. Jack and Spot were on stage trying to calm the crowd. Brooklyn was stage left. Some of the boys Fawkes knew from Manhattan were in a box seat above stage right. There were too many of them. Kid Blink was hanging from the box like an ape. She shook her head when she saw him. Others were where the pit crew should have been. There was not an empty seat in the house.

This rally was a good idea. There were a lot of newsies. Folks would have to notice their numbers now.

Fawkes popped out from the wings and they got the ball rolling.

Jack started the thing off with some words. "I wanted to thank you all for coming out!"

The audience settled down.

"Take a look around. See how full this place is. There's a lot of us in this fight. Our rally is gonna show those newspaper owners that we're serious and there's a lot of us they're going up against. That being said, now that they'll be taking us seriously, I see life getting a lot harder. The bright side, is that there's a lot of people who've got your back if you need help. Fox here stood against Pulitzer's thugs when no one else would. Brooklyn saw and respected that, which is why they joined the fight."

Fawkes nodded her thanks to Spot and his boys.

Spot was wearing what he always did, red suspenders, and a dirty shirt. But his hair was slicked back and his shoes looked shined. He didn't quite grin in response, but Fawkes could tell that he was pleased. Other boys were dressed to the nines. This was a special occasion.

Somebody shouted something from the mezzanine that started a rumble in the crowd.

"You're right!" Spot shouted. It was a statement cause enough to shock everyone into silence.

Fawkes made a face at him. How was it possible he had heard the kid? She hadn't.

"Soaking the scabs doesn't give us a good reputation. It's either proof that we're kids, or a union. If there's any other way to prove to the world that we're serious, I'd love to hear it. Fists is what we Brookies know. It's what gets the job done. The thugs they brought to the World's circulation center would only listen to violence, not reason. We fight our battles as they come to us in various forms. As underdogs, they think if they stomp on us enough times, we'll go away. We have to fight back to show them that is _not_ how it's going to be."

Some more eloquent words were said, but Fawkes tuned them out. She didn't say anything because she was saving her voice for her act. Which was coming up soon.

Spot and Jack sidled off to the side as some newsies prepped the stage.

Fawkes flew to her dressing room to pull on a dress and affix her wig.

She sashayed back to the stage to hoots, hollers, and whistles of her peers. She was wearing a black dress trimmed with gold. She was uncomfortable, but it was because she hadn't bothered to take off her street clothes underneath.

"_Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears,_

_While we all sup sorrow with the poor;_

_There's a song that will linger forever in our ears;_

_Oh! Hard times come again no more…_"

The newsies joined in on the chorus and carried the girl through all the verses. They cheered, and whistled, and catcalled. Fawkes gladly cleared the stage for Medda's more upbeat tune that would follow.

Newsies crowded the backstage. Jack was in the wings. When he stepped up, all the other boys backed off. Fawkes grinned.

"I saw Snyder slip in. I don't think he's going to make a move until he sees one or both of us."

"Don't let that stop you from having fun," Fawkes remarked.

"What song are you gonna sing next?" Spot wanted to know

"It's a toss-up between _Black Velvet Band_, _Courtin' in the Kitchen_, or the _Rocky Road to Dublin._"

"Are you sure you want to go Irish, knowing Mackey's out there?"

"They're the only upbeat tunes I've got. I don't think_ Sidewalks of New York_ will make everyone as reckless."

Jack grinned, "So you're planning on making chaos."

"Of course. Because you're going to come out of hiding and dance. I know you too well."

Spot clearly objected.

"I'm going Irish because I'm counting on the Brookies to get rowdy and flood the stage."

Spot nodded his acceptance that the situation was beyond his control. "_Courtin' in the kitchen_. I think Mackey'll like that one."

Fawkes nodded. It did have a nice chorus.

She marched back onto the stage as Medda exited and began her song:

"_Come single belle and beau and to me pay attention,_

_Don't ever fall in love it's the devil's own invention._

_For once I fell in love with a maiden so bewitchin'_

_Miss Henrietta Bell down in Captain Kelly's Kitchen…_"

You would have thought every boy in the Brooklyn crew was either being murdered, or killing a man. They let out a series of bellows and shouts that nearly drowned out any sound Fawkes made after the first line. They jumped onto the stage and immediately began dancing and singing.

Jack, being Irish, was also drawn to the stage.

That was when Snyder made his move. A whistle blew and was echoed by another. From the sounds of it, they had all the exits covered.

Fawkes stood tall and carried on singing. The Brookies proved they didn't give a damn and kept on singing and jigging as well.

When Fawkes finished her song, she clocked the closest cop and ran. She'd already seen Race dragged off and Kid Blink fail to get through the front door from her position on stage. The Brookies had made a good show of combining singing, dancing, and brawling. She didn't know why she was surprised. Those were really the only three things the Irish were good at. No, that was a lie. They could drink too. And work hard.

The cops backstage couldn't seem to decide whether they should let her go about her business or drag her in with the rest of the riff raff. After she punched the cop that was sneaking up on Spot, they decided to classify her as a threat. She pushed out of their holds. More than one newsie was willing to make sure she got safely out of harm's way. It was probably because she looked like a proper lady.

She was thankful for their assistance and was able to sneak to her dressing room with their help.

Jack was there.

"Nice work. Now, how we getting out of here?" He asked.

Fawkes grinned and slipped out of the dress. She'd found an old cop uniform earlier that day among the props. She planned to wear it and walk Jack out. Simple as that. She was buttoning the coat when a knock sounded on the door.

"Open up!"

Thinking quick, Fawkes socked Jack.

The door burst open as Jack slumped to the floor.

"This one was giving me some trouble," she grumbled as she hoisted him to his feet. She hadn't meant to knock him out, just make it look like he was putting up a fight. It wouldn't look good for him to come too willingly.

A police officer helped to drag Jack out.

Fawkes stuffed him into a wagon full of newsies. She climbed up into the front seat as they cursed her out and grabbed hold of the reins. "Hold on," she warned them.

The horses started walking and Fawkes did her best not to get impatient. When they rounded a corner, she urged them into a gallop.

She heard hooves and whistles in the distance.

In a side alley, Fawkes unloaded the cart. The newsies were confused, as they should have been, but as soon as their feet touched cobblestone they set off at a run and didn't look back.

She was wrestling Jack's prone body out, congratulating herself on actually getting away with it when she heard a horse whinny. Too close.

The world went black and her body collapsed under the weight of Jack's.


	16. Chapter 16

They'd put her and Jack in holding cells, side by side. There was no sign of any of the other newsies. "Sorry I punched your lights out," Fawkes's voice was coarse from too much use and not enough hydration.

"I thought you said you had a plan to get us out clean," Jack was testing the tenderness of his right cheek. She'd given him one hell of a shiner.

"I did," she blew out a breath. "I wish you coulda seen it. I got a cop to help drag your sorry butt into the paddywagon. I picked the keys and took the reins. I thought I got away clean. I found a quiet spot and let everyone out. I was struggling with you when-"

That's where her memory stopped.

"I have it on good authority, Mr. Mackey used to be a professional with a slingshot," Snyder's voice oozed as he stepped out of the shadows. He was watching them carefully.

"If he's the one who dropped me, I'd guess he still is," Fawkes grumbled. "I didn't even notice he was there so he had to come at me from a distance." It would explain the ringing in her head. And the soreness on the back of her skull.

"I'll see you kids in the morning," Snyder was grinning as he dismissed himself.

Fawkes blew out a breath and took a seat. She'd come to in the wagon and had been too out of sorts to put up much of a fight. She didn't see Jack until she got shoved in the cell. They must have known that sticking them together was a bad idea. She wished that she could make them regret putting him so close to her.

A guard came in to snuff out the lights.

Jack laid down in his cell and curled up. Fawkes wanted to apologize further but she couldn't find the words. They'd failed. Hopefully the strike would go on, but it would have to be without them.

Fawkes was exhausted. There was nothing her body wanted to do more than sleep. Her head injury, coupled with the stress of the day-seeing Mackey, leading the rally, performing, not managing to escape, she should be out like a light.

She couldn't. Her brain was whirring. Too many things had gone wrong. There were too many unknowns for her to settle down.

Her first problem was that she was caged. Again. It was a situation she'd promised herself she'd avoid.

She'd failed. She was going to that awful place back west. She'd escape there. She'd done it twice now.

That sorted, Fawkes started to worry about the newsies. She'd saved a wagon-ful. Had they escaped successfully? Who else had been caught? Why had they captured others if she and Jack had been the priority? Were there other newsies with outstanding charges? That sounded fun to find out. Where were they being held if not here? Fawkes amended that thought. They were probably in separate precincts to reduce trouble.

There was nothing she could do from her present location. She would just have to wait until morning to find out the damage done.

Fawkes slept fitfully. She liked open spaces and big sky. She didn't do well in tight spaces. It was why she slept on rooftops.

In the morning, a guard grabbed her and two grabbed Jack. They were escorted into a wagon and brought to city hall.

She could hear newsies in the courtroom as she waited in the hallway for her turn to be arraigned. So they had caught others. What were they being charged with? Assault? Battery?

She thought she heard Spot's lilt, shortly before giggling and gavel pounding.

The cop pulled her through the door when another man of law came to fetch him. The balliff, she remembered.

Fawkes eyed the courtroom. It was classier than the ones out west. This one had dark wood paneling, but an equally severe-looking man on the bench donning grey whiskers.

The place was crowded. Newsies were cycling through. On their way to freedom, it looked like. Denton was working out the details with the clerk, all the boys behind him were more than ready to leave.

Fawkes was jealous. They'd probably got to pass the night in a holding cell together. They'd probably been warm.

She saw Race and Spot in the crowd and was pleased to see there weren't that many. Hopefully that meant the ones she'd loosed had stayed free.

"Fawkes?" Spot's hail was a question. She knew why. She wasn't planning on getting caught. He didn't know about the string of charges against her. He only knew Jack had a history.

Fawkes didn't say anything. She didn't want them to be here for this.

"Move it along," the judge ordered the newsies in a bored tone. "What's this one about?"

"Impersonating an officer," the clerk said

"Your honor," Snyder had appeared out of nowhere. Was he going to speak in her defense? Fawkes would rather a hangman's noose. "This is Morgan Kay. Her street names are Ginger, Leprechaun, and Fox."

Fawkes was torn between telling them they were wrong or staying silent. Kay was the name of the gang she'd rustled cattle with. Her name was Morgan Fawkes. They probably didn't care.

"She's wanted for extradition in four states."

The boys, on their way out, made some noise behind her. Whether it was the feminine pronoun, aliases, or the extraditions, it was hard to say.

"You don't mind if I take a seat?" Fawkes asked the judge. "This is gonna be awhile."

She wasn't afforded the opportunity. The guard never left her side, and Snyder swooped closer as she approached the judge's bench.

"She's wanted in Utah, Idaho, Wyoming, and Colorado for multiple counts of cattle rustling. Wyoming for one count of horse theft. I'm sure there are other charges by now," Snyder remarked.

Fawkes sent him a deadly look. She'd stole a bit to get to New York but no one could prove anything. She'd been clean since.

"I'd like to keep her in the Refuge until-"

"Has she committed any crimes in the state of New York?" The judge looked like he could care less.

"Murder, your honor. And theft."

"What?!" Fawkes nearly shrieked. Murder? Whose?

The judge peered down his nose at Fawkes, and then Snyder. "Explain," he demanded.

"In the summer of 1896, a young man was found facedown in the gutter in Coney Island," Snyder said.

"Wouldn't be the first," Racetrack quipped from beyond.

"A youth came into my care as a result of that incident, but there was never any formal charge or case," Snyder continued.

"Because you folks don't care about anything that happens south of Manhattan," Fawkes scoffed. Disbelief was rattling her to the core. They'd never charged Mackey? And now they were pinning her with his crime?

"He was a witness you see, in the wrong place at the wrong time, but at long last, we have managed to track down the murderer."

Fawkes' eyes narrowed and she advanced on the warden, "I didn't kill anyone. That guy was easily twice my size. You know full well Mackey did. That's more his style. You just need someone to blame and you think I'll be that scapegoat. Well I won't." The girl screamed her frustration, scaring the guard into taking a step back. Snyder took a step forward, his hand raised.

Fawkes didn't move. She narrowed her eyes and steeled herself for the hit. She willed it to come. She'd been beat before. She didn't fear him. She wouldn't flinch.

The judge looked between her and Snyder. Hopefully he didn't like what he saw. "She may stay in your care until a trial date is set, if charges get filed. Find out if there are any new charges against her. The extraditions may have precedence..." he trailed off writing a note and then banged his gavel. "Next!"

"Francis Sullivan a.k.a. Jack Kelly," Snyder's voice was oily like he'd won a great victory.

Fawkes cringed as they read his charges: Inciting to riot, assault, resisting arrest, on top of his old theft charge.

The guard began to haul her off. Fawkes whipped around, "I'm sorry Cowboy."

"I am too Fox," Jack offered her a sad smile. "We had a good run."

"Just like old times," she managed to grin.

"Hey Cowboy! Nice shiner!" Racetrack was grinning.

Snyder spoke to the judge about keeping Jack till he was twenty-one. Fawkes could see that broke his resolve a little.

"Did we at least get in the papers?" Fawkes asked Denton as she was pushed past. If not for the rally, the sheer number of cops would have attracted attention. And what about her heroic save?

"No," Denton's voice was quiet and she saw Jack's shoulders sag further. "I'll stop by and explain it to you later," Denton promised.

"But I-" Fawkes held up her wrists. They were still in chains.

"Don't worry."

Fawkes tried not to.

She hadn't trusted Denton much when she first met him. He asked a lot of prying questions. The kind that make good reporters, she supposed. It put her ill at ease. He'd seen everything they'd been through, from the beginning. He was here now, posting bail for a sizable number of newsies. That couldn't be cheap. He was invested. She'd seen him running blocker for Snyder last night. He was in this just as much as they were.

Adults were always trying to catch her in the wrong. This one wasn't. As much as she didn't want to, she liked him. If he said not to worry, then maybe he had a plan. It would be refreshing. Fawkes was all out.

When Denton was admitted into her solitary cell at the Refuge some time later, Fawkes recognized there was something different about him. He wasn't all smiles and optimism.

"What's wrong?" Fawkes demanded.

The shoulders underneath his sharp suit were sagging the way Jack's had. This man had also encountered a staggering defeat.

"My boss has reassigned me."

"What? Why?"

"Because he's a newspaper and you kids are at war with all of them. He thinks I shouldn't cover you because it gives you more power."

"He's right," Fawkes agreed. She paused as a thought struck her, "Is that why the other papers won't cover us?"

"Probably, though I think there are other factors as well."

"Pulitzer," Fawkes nodded. He had enough money and power to lean on anyone he wanted. He hadn't done so before now because he hadn't taken them seriously. Now he was. The fight had gotten harder, just like Jack had promised that it would, only she and Jack weren't around to lead them. Fawkes hoped that someone would step up. Spot had brains. Racetrack was persuasive enough. They could do it, if they listened to each other. "I'm sorry you bet on us and lost," Fawkes leaned her head back on the crumbly brick wall behind her. "I wish we'd been more upstanding citizens."

Denton managed a grin, "Me too, kid. They only went after your past because you were doing so well. Orphans have a tough rap. It's impossible for you to stay alive and not break laws that are inhibiting your own preservation."

Fawkes let out a mirthless laugh and changed the topic, "What's next for you?"

"Hating my life because I chose to keep my job over helping you."

Fawkes managed a grin, "Jack wouldn't talk to you?" She guessed.

Denton's silence was answer enough.

"You're a newspaper man. We're the news. If every newspaper is refusing to report on us, how are you going to survive?"

Denton nodded. He reached into his pocket. "I don't know if they'll let you keep this," he held out a crumpled up ball of paper. "But this is what I wrote about the rally."

He tossed it to her. Fawkes caught it and put it in her own pocket, "Not much I can do about it in here."

"Not much anyone's going to do about it since Pulitzer's demanded no one print anything about the strike."

"Yeah, I don't see many printing presses finding their way into my life at present."

Denton offered up a genuine smile, "You never know. Keep your head up."

"Is this the last I'll see of you?"

"My boss promised to blacklist me from every reputable paper if I don't leave you kids be. I figured I owed you enough to explain the why."

"Thanks," Fawkes told him. "For treating us like humans, and for treating us like adults."

"You earned my respect, it was the least I could do. I'll never forget the way you went after those thugs…"

"Time's up!" A voice shouted.

Fawkes heard a key jangle on its way toward the lock in her door.

"I also wanted to tell you I heard a story about a hero when I rounded up the newsies to say goodbye," Denton told her, rushed. "Some claimed a newsie dressed up as an officer of the law and led them to freedom at the expense of his own. A boy with red hair like a fox-"

The lock sprang open and the door swung inward.

"You might be behind bars kid, but you're a legend now." Denton assured the girl. "Folks'll expect the strike to end because the leaders are in jail, but they'll keep fighting to honor you. They owe you that much."

The guard escorted Denton away.

Fawkes let her chin fall into her hands as she sat with her elbows on her knees.

It was what she wanted to hear: that kids were still fighting. So why didn't she feel good about it? Because she wasn't there. The idea had been fostered by the Manhattan newsies in her company. Now it felt as though someone had stolen it away. She wanted to be there to see it through to the end. She didn't want to hear they were carrying on her work in honor of her legacy. She wanted them to do it because they wanted it, not because she wanted it for them.

Fawkes couldn't stop thinking about it.

It was all there was to think about.

Well, that and that Denton was no longer supporting them. With the strike on, the newsies relied on him for food. She wanted to be angry with him. He was an adult who'd gained her trust, only to leave her, like they all did eventually. She understood why. He needed to make a living same as they did. It didn't mean he didn't care about them. The reassignment looked like it had ripped out his heart and his will to live. Jack would understand if he wasn't wallowing in his own personal defeat.

She tried not to think about it. Focus on the good, she told herself. The newsies were striking, even without them. They were still fighting. She had given them a reason to push on. They still might win this thing.


	17. Chapter 17

Fawkes heard approaching footsteps and made a face. She'd been in this cell for less than a day and she was getting two visitors? What was going on?

This visitor was less welcome.

It was Snyder with his pale face and his bowler hat, come to take her away.

Already? Fawkes tried not to get her hopes up.

There were no words exchanged as two guards came in to cuff the girl and cart her out of the cell. They half-dragged her down the hall, over some steps, and out into the muggy air of the courtyard.

Without ceremony, they tossed her into the wagon waiting there.

"Fox?"

"Jack?"

Fawkes had landed on the floor, on top of someone's feet.

She pulled herself upright as the mobile cage jerked forward. She couldn't see much. The wagon was fully enclosed, except for a few tiny barred windows that let in shafts of light from the streetlamps.

"What's going on?" She whispered as she crawled onto the bench beside him.

"Hell if I know."

The pair sat in silence.

Fawkes could sense Jack's mood. He was furious. She didn't want to say anything and ruin it. His temper was an asset.

After what seemed like forever, Snyder opened the door and Fawkes stepped out.

She'd never seen a place so regal. It looked like a palace. There were tall iron-wrought gates out front and the building was made of huge marble blocks. Everything was illuminated with the soft golden glow of lamp light.

Fawkes dared a look at Jack. She had a suspicion about their current location. She scarcely believed it. Why would Pulitzer bring them into his own house? To meet his enemy? To gloat about his victory?

The girl steeled herself for an encounter with another powerful man who was used to getting his way and siphoned off some of the rage that was filling her friend.

The pair were pushed into a mahogany parlor. A first glance revealed there was no one but them in it. Immediately, they began perusing, starting their inspection on opposite sides of the room. Fawkes's plan wasn't to steal anything, only to confirm her whereabouts. And maybe arm herself, if it was necessary.

A thin greying man wearing a crimson smoking jacket and spectacles was struggling down the stairs. Fawkes jumped to face him. She'd seen his face in the papers she sold. She was looking at none other than Joseph Pulitzer.

Across the room, Jack straightened. He'd been looking at a photograph. He was not shocked or surprised to see their host. "Evenin' Joe," Jack's voice was anything but friendly.

"I have it on good authority you two are the upstarts who are credited with leading the strike. A girl wanted for murder and a boy who steals."

"They say I have a magnetic personality," Jack was all sass. "I keep her around for protection."

"I haven't been charged with murder-yet," Fawkes spoke up.

Pulitzer pulled his narrowed eyes from Jack to her, "I have a lot of power in this town. I can send you to the electric chair. Or I could set you free."

"I'm not afraid of you," Fawkes replied simply.

"You should be." Pulitzer warned.

"What's all this about then Joe?" Jack's rage had dissipated into something easy-going. Further proof that if they lived through this, Jack was going to make a killer politician.

"Your strike will come to end. Quicker, now that you aren't around to control things. What comes next is up to you. You can either rot with Snyder for an eternity, or you can work for me again. I'll pay you well. Well enough that you can leave this city behind when it's over and make something of yourself if you choose."

Fawkes cocked her head to the side, "Are you trying to bribe us, Joe?"

Pulitzer ignored her. "You don't have to decide tonight. I'll let you sleep on it back at the House of Refuge." Now he paid her a glance, "I'd choose wisely. You can't count on the fact that your extraditions will overrule that murder charge."

Fawkes met his stare, "I don't want your money, Joe."

Pulitzer knocked on the door that had delivered the teens into the room. It opened and Snyder came in to retrieve the criminals.

Fawkes and Jack were silent as they were loaded back into the wagon. Fawkes wanted to say something. She wanted to talk out what had just happened, make sense of it in her mind, but somehow she couldn't.

Had Pulitzer threatened to kill her for her insubordination? That's what it sounded like. He threatened to stick her with a murder charge if she continued to support the strike. He would forget the whole thing if she rejoined the team.

She knew why. He was threatened. They were winning.

If they scabbed, they'd lose the support of the newsies, and the strike effort would crumble. She and Jack had been the backbone of this fight from the beginning. She knew what would happen if they were seen on the other side of things. That's what Pulitzer was counting on.

Fawkes wasn't going to play that game. She only took deals she believed in. She wasn't ready to be a turncoat. She had charges she was ready to face out west. She didn't think Pulitzer was bluffing about hitting her with a murder charge. She was fairly certain what she had waiting in Wyoming would overrule it. There were a lot of counts of cattle rustling to consider.

"I won't hate you if you take the deal," Fawkes said at last.

"What?"

"Pulitzer's deal," Fawkes sighed. What else was he thinking about? "I can't take it."

"You don't want to take it," Jack's voice was barely audible over the sound of the wheels clacking on the cobble.

"I can't," she repeated. "I've been skipping out on too much of my time. I'd rather spend it out west than here in the city. I think that's where they'll send me."

"You don't think Pulitzer's gonna squeeze you with that murder charge?"

"It's gonna be he-said, she-said, and I'm not going to win because it'll be the word of a former cattle rustler up against a cop. I don't think Pulitzer's gonna do it because it's you he's after. He knows I'm just a girl. He thinks I'm along for the ride. I think he was threatening me to get a rise out of you."

"That's foolish, you've got a longer rap sheet than I do. This is right up your alley." Fawkes could hear the smile in Jack's voice, even if she couldn't see it in the dark.

Fawkes laughed, "We know that, but what we know doesn't matter. It's what he thinks in the end."

"I'm not gonna take it either," Jack said.

"You ought to. You'll have enough money to get out of this city and make your own way west."

"Why would I do that if you're not gonna be there?" Jack nudged her with his elbow.

"You're not giving me enough credit. I will be," Fawkes pushed back.

A silence fell between them and then Jack said in a timid voice, "I don't think I can do it. To take everything we fought for and turn around and stomp on it, all for some money? It would crush the guys."

"We started this because we wanted change. Now we know how they keep it from happening. Maybe by taking on the whole city, we bit off more than we could chew. We weren't properly equipped for the situation. Pulitzer singled us out because we've got the most to lose. Maybe we can't change world, but he's giving you an opportunity to change your life."

"Why aren't you taking it then?"

"Because I'm too stubborn. It's about time I be a grown-up and accept the consequences for my actions. No more easy ways out."

"Except for when you jump ship when you go out west."

Fawkes shrugged, "Except for that. I've got a lot of charges against me. You've just got the one theft charge, whatever you haven't served and whatever they stick you with from the rally. You can still turn over a new leaf."

Jack shoved her, more roughly this time, "Because you're a hardened criminal, through and through."

Fawkes was silent. To get free she was going to need to break a few laws and she was okay with that. If she had any hope of making reparations, or becoming a better citizen, the notion should have her more ill at ease.

They said nothing more for the rest of their journey.

When the wagon stopped again, they were back in the courtyard at the House of Refuge.

Snyder helped to escort Jack to the boy's wing. "Officer Mackey, would you be so kind as to see the lady to her room?" Snyder asked over his shoulder as he departed.

Fawkes saw Mackey's bulk lumber forward and felt her mouth go dry as he answered, "Gladly, sir."

She was frozen in place. Too shocked to move. Too upset to notice Jack dig in his heels and turn to look.

Mackey dragged her into the building and to her room.

Who were they kidding? It was a cell. It had bars on the windows and a swatch of straw for a bed. Mackey opened the door while another guard undid her handcuffs.

Fawkes seriously considered making a run for it.

The only thing that stopped her was the knowledge that she couldn't get out of the compound. Snyder would enjoy adding months to whatever sentence they gave. He would love her to give him a reason to stay.

Mackey pushed her into the cell as though she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

Fawkes stumbled, but the wall she ran into helped her to recover.

Mackey started to follow. The girl widened her stance, not trusting the look in her eyes. She was practiced now. She could certainly give Mackey a run for his money. She would gladly die trying.

"Mackey!" A voice barked. "This one's still in holding. You can't touch her till she's been charged."

Mackey glared through the open door, back at the officer who'd scolded him. He turned back and fixed Fawkes with a knowing look, "I'll be back for you, Connie."

He swung the door shut behind him and another guard locked it.

As soon as Fawkes could hear his feet marching away, she let out a ragged breath. She ran to the spot next to the door, so that when it swung open, she could hide behind it. It would give her some advantage.

When the adrenaline seeped out of her body, the girl sunk to the floor, trying to control her breathing.

This was exactly what she hated about enclosed spaces.


	18. Chapter 18

Jack didn't sleep a wink.

When he heard the first round of guards filter in when dawn broke, he demanded to see Snyder.

Once Snyder was on the scene, Jack requested an audience with Pulitzer.

The field trip was arranged rather quickly.

"I haven't heard anything from your girlfriend," Snyder remarked.

"You left her in the care of an old friend. You'll be lucky if they're both alive."

That was cause enough for Snyder to order a few guards to check on Fawkes before they left.

Pulitzer was waiting in his office in the World Building when Jack was shown in.

The old man nodded as the door was closed behind the cowboy, "I didn't know who would show, the murderer, or the thief."

"Fox ain't no murderer. She's a cattle rustler. That makes us both thieves," Jack remarked.

Pulitzer was not amused, "Are you willing to take my deal?"

Jack smiled, "That's why I'm here and she's not. Fox doesn't make deals, she only offers them."

Pulitzer eyed him carefully, as if a prolonged stare would give weight to Jack's assertion. Hopefully, Pulitzer was questioning who was really the brains of the operation. That was Jack's hope. A desperate person would jump at Pulitzer's offer of freedom. All you had to do was sell your soul and break the strike you fought for. Then you could get your money and leave.

Of the pair of them, Fox was the desperate one. She was too stubborn to turn her back on her beliefs. Jack had that to his advantage. He'd counted on Fox refusing to take Pulitzer's handout. He didn't want to be the one to do it, but he could make it work for him. It would tear at his heart, but if everything went as planned, there were some redeeming factors.

"Here's how it's going to happen: I'm going to sell your papes, as good as I ever did-on the condition that you make sure my record gets expunged. Fox's too. I won't sell a pape until I know that girl's free."

Pulitzer stood, "She's got other crimes to answer for, boy."

"I'm aware, but if she's free and clear here, it's somebody else's job to catch her."

"You are aware that you're in no position to bargain," Pulitzer sized him up again.

Jack flashed a smile, "You offered us a life in jail or a life of freedom. You didn't say we both had to choose the same thing. I'm choosing freedom for both of us. You'll do it because you want this strike over and the sooner I'm seen on the streets, the sooner their resolve will crumble. You'll give me the money you promised too because you want to encourage me to leave the city as soon as is convenient for you so I can't start any more trouble."

Pulitzer was silent for a spell, no doubt sizing up the give and take. Jack knew where he had the upperhand. Pulitzer's mistake was in not asking what Fox would get up to once she was free.

The old man demanded one of his lackeys enter.

The lackey took Jack shopping. Some place nice. Since he was Pulitzer's man now, the old man wanted him dressing sharply. His intention was so that the newsies could see how benevolent Pulitzer could be. It also demonstrated the amount of class he wished his newsies had.

As Snyder was freeing Jack's hands from the manacles, Pulitzer approached, "I'll have the charges dropped for you and your friend. She'll still have the extraditions to worry about. I'd suggest you tell her to get out of town so she doesn't get into anymore trouble. Who knows what'll happen if she gets picked up again?"

Jack recognized the threat and bit back the urge to tell him to go ahead and try to tell Fox what she could and couldn't do. She was going to join the picket line as soon as she was free, regardless of the charges hanging over her head.

Pulitzer's men whisked Jack away and soon he was too busy to think about whether or not the old man had kept his word.

* * *

><p>It was about midday when Fawkes heard footsteps approach.<p>

She'd alternated between hiding behind the door, looking out the window, and pacing. She jumped behind the door, fearing Mackey.

There were some words exchanged and then the door swung open.

No one entered.

Cautiously, Fawkes peered around the edge of the door. There was a guard standing a safe distance away. "Let's go," he barked.

Go? Fawkes wondered. Go where?

She stepped into the hall, prepared to be clasped in irons. It never happened.

The guard prodded her forward. She took the hint and started walking. He stayed half a length behind her as she marched through the hall, down the stairs, and into the sun.

She stood, one hand at eye level to block out the sun as the guard stepped out behind her.

The gates stood open.

Was this some kind of trick?

Fawkes wasn't about to ruin the moment by asking.

Just as she was about to set off for the gates at a run, she saw Mackey on the steps of the building, talking to Snyder. He did not look pleased.

Snyder marched down to her level and glared at her, "You're free to go. But I'd warn you against committing any further offenses."

Fawkes didn't need to be told twice. She sprinted towards the gates, not considering the catch until she was a block away. She'd run too fast for Mackey if they intended to follow her.

Her first destination was Medda's. Her things were still there. Good. She was going to need them-and a job once she sorted out what the hell was going on. She found some boys still milling about near the circulation center.

Racetrack was sitting in the shade of a statue, smoking a cigarette. His back was to her, but she would know that dark head of hair anywhere.

A few sizable Brookies rose up to meet her.

Fawkes stopped dead. With everything that had happened, she hadn't considered the fallout of the past couple of days. She'd rescued newsies from Snyder's clutches so she had that going for her. At the arraignment all her aliases had been outed. Word had to have gotten round about that by now. She hadn't thought about it because it hadn't been a concern. She hadn't expect to be in the thick of things again.

She stood, squaring off against three big Brooklyn boys, trying to figure out if they were going to wallop her for being Connie, or because they didn't like strangers.

Before she could get words out, a cane she was all too familiar with snaked in front of her and thwapped the stomachs of the boys. All three yielded immediately.

Spot stood in her line of sight, looking a little worse for wear. "How are you here?" He wanted to know. He had every right to be suspicious.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"Where's Jack?"

"I don't know."

Spot didn't like it. She could read it in the expression on his face. Fawkes knew why. Last time she'd disappeared she'd taken a leader with her. If it had only been a one time thing, it could be forgotten about. Now they were looking at two instances.

"I don't know why they cut me loose. To sow seeds of suspicion? To create unrest? Maybe Jack got out too and they're following us. I have no idea. I came here to see if you guys had any leads."

"Fox?" That was Racetrack's unmistakable voice.

He hurried over to her with a big grin on his face. "Man, I sure am glad to see you. We could use you and Jack in this fight. They lined the streets so thick with bulls today we couldn't get close to a scab. Where's Jack?" He tried looking around her.

"I don't know," Fawkes repeated.

Race didn't look nearly as put out as Spot, "Snipeshooter's been telling everyone what you did. 'Impersonating an officer' doesn't do the crime justice. I want to hear the story from your point of view."

Fawkes made a face. It seemed like a world ago. And all for naught-since they'd both gotten captured.

The girl took a seat and explained how she'd used the Brookies to make her exit and snuck Jack outside. How she'd stolen the paddywagon out from under the noses of the cops and how she'd got taken down trying to get Jack out.

"You knocked Jack out?" Spot wasn't trying hard to conceal a grin.

"I didn't mean to," Fawkes's voice was quiet. "It was just the stress of the situation-I didn't want it to look he'd come without a fight."

"What now?" Racetrack asked.

"Get ready to man the lines tomorrow. This fight is far from over," Fawkes answered, but her mind was elsewhere.

The girl wracked her brain for places she might find Jack. She decided to hit up Kloppman's. Boots was behind the desk. He grinned when she walked in. "This came for you," he poked a faded and salt encrusted black cowboy hat that could only belong to Jack Kelly.

Fawkes picked it up liked she'd been expecting it the whole time and stuffed it into her pack. From there, she made her way to Medda's. Once inside the safety of her tiny dressing room, Fawkes pulled the hat out and felt all over for a clue. The edge of something caught her finger.

There was a slip of paper tucked behind the salt-encrusted rim. The girl pulled it out and read three poorly written words: Be careful tomorrow.

The redhead let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and sat back in the chair. He'd had something to do with her release. She told him to take the deal with Pulitzer. She hadn't expected him to make her part of it.

That kid was always trying to save her life. Ever since the beginning.

Why hadn't Snyder told her anything?

The answer was obvious. He wanted her to screw up again.

Jack knew she wasn't going to leave town. She was going to see this strike through. Snyder knew she was trouble, but Pulitzer didn't think so or else she wouldn't be free. It didn't matter. She didn't care.

She was free and she was going to strike. They were probably expecting that. It was why Jack had given her his hat. It would keep her identity safe for at least one day.


	19. Chapter 19

Fawkes's brief hiatus from the strike made her very aware of the changes as she joined the teeming mass that was picketing outside the World Building.

Before, her and the boys would squabble with the scabs until the bulls got called.

Now, cops lined the street, forming a barrier between the newsies and the circulation center.

Fawkes's brain analyzed the charges you'd get smacked with if you had the audacity to cross the line. At the moment, she wasn't worried about it. She was wearing Cowboy's hat, the brim pulled low, as she watched the goings-on. Newsies chanted around her. She was standing in a sea of anonymity.

Her brain was focused on the open space between the cops and the gate and what you'd have to do to get there. There was no way to get through and not hit an officer. That would get you an assault charge. They'd also hit you with some form of unruly-was it belligerent? behavior. The word escaped her. Fawkes tried to recall Jack's list of charges. Inciting to riot. That wouldn't be fun.

A wagon carrying newspapers to other distribution centers cut through the crowd. Bodies leaped out of the way to avoid getting trampled.

There was nowhere to go.

Everyone was crammed in close to their neighbor. Kids didn't like being jostled. They shoved. Others pushed back.

Disorderly conduct.

Assault.

The charges flashed through Fawkes's mind as she did her best to quell the fights that were breaking out amongst the strikers. She didn't want to risk them getting out of control.

"We can't be fighting each other. Save your energy for the Man," she chastised them and looked meaningfully at Pulitzer's building. In this heat, she knew it was a rough request.

A rumble went through the crowd as the circulation bell rang. Any moment now, scabs would be walking through the gates.

Fawkes watched the boys begin to assemble in the entryway, newspapers in hand, a smile growing on her face. Not a single one of them had the balls to cross the line. They had protection in the circulation center. They wouldn't once they got out of the square.

If they got out of the square, she amended. That's what they were afraid of. They knew they wouldn't escape without a beating.

As more scabs lingered, Fawkes turned wary. They were waiting for something.

Someone.

Boys backed out of the way as the rotund man who operated the desk (Fawkes faintly recalled the boys calling him Weasel) escorted a youth sporting brand new clothes to the front.

Fawkes barely recognized him without his red bandana tied around his neck, without his torn and faded pants, without the cowboy hat that had given rise to his street name.

Beside her, Spot was gaping and pointing. He was trying to grab hold of someone, anyone, to tell him what he was seeing wasn't real.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Racetrack's cigarette drop from his fingertips, onto the street, unnoticed.

The crowd howled with rage. The reason was obvious. They rejected this reality-the one in which Jack Kelly was a scab for Pulitzer's paper.

Fawkes, alone, was silent.

She'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop since Mackey'd released her.

This was it.

How else could she be free if she hadn't brokered any deal? She'd expected Jack to be long gone after making the deal. He'd always had a strong desire to go to Santa Fe, all he lacked was the money. Why was he still here? There must be a catch.

Did he have to be the face of the scabs so the strikers would see him and feel betrayed? Did Pulitzer think that would drive them to quit? The only thing the crowd wanted now more than their victory was his blood for being a turncoat.

She could hear every newsie who knew him, and more who didn't, promise him bodily harm. Some were enthusiastic in their follow-through. Spot leaped between two cops, his cane raised and ready to strike. The police officers caught him around his midsection and returned him to his feet.

Racetrack made a hearty attempt as well.

Kid Blink and the others spewed hate, though their eyes were wide with disbelief.

Jack refused to look at the crowd. He hated himself, Fawkes could tell. His shoulders were squared against the insults of his former friends, but his head hung in defeat.

His appearance was part of the reason Fawkes didn't speak out against him. The other reason was because she knew he was who she had to thank for being free. She wanted to talk to him. To give him words of encouragement. To tell him to stay strong. She'd see this battle through. She was on the easier side of things. He had to deal with everyone thinking he was a traitor.

Despite the din, Fawkes could hear Weasel mocking Jack. He was living a hellish life. He'd teamed up with evil humans and the only people who cared about him were separated by a row of cops the belief that he'd forsaken all they'd struggled for.

Hadn't he fought side-by-side with them for the past couple weeks? Hadn't he risked life and limb for Crutchy? For any newsie within his power to help? And now, here they were.

"Look at that one there," Weasel was practically gloating. "There's a boy in the crowd that clearly idolizes you. He's even got a cowboy hat just like yours. Let's bring him up to see what he thinks of his turncoat hero now." Weasel turned his attention to the crowd, "Hey Cowboy!"

All the newsies honed in on her.

Fawkes dared a look up. Jack was staring at her with empty eyes. His spirit was gone.

Weasel was smirking, "C'mon up. Come meet the great Jack Kelly. He sure is a hero. He made the smart move by deciding to let bygones be bygones and work for Mr. Pulitzer again. And Mr. Pulitzer, forgiving man that he is, decided to overlook his past transgressions. C'mon Jack, why don't you say some nice words to the kid, see if you can't persuade him that working for us is the smarter choice. You'll get some money in your pockets instead of being penniless and sleeping on the streets."

The surging crowd stilled and parted so that Fawkes could walk to Jack unhindered. The girl felt her feet pressing forward without her permission. The cops clumped together as she reached them but Weasel waved her through.

"What's going on Sullivan?" Fawkes tried for cavalier.

Jack's eyes roved the crowd before landing on Weasel.

Everyone was eerily silent, waiting with bated breath for one of Jack's epic speeches.

Fawkes didn't want that. She needed a private conversation with Jack. She wasn't going to get that with a couple hundred onlookers at her back. Fawkes looked behind her, hoping that someone would understand.

She made eye contact with Racetrack. He barely nodded. Immediately, he started jeering and the crowd followed suit.

Fawkes made a face, surprised that had worked so well. She stepped closer to Jack so they could converse and actually hear each other speak.

"I made the deal with Pulitzer to get you out. I sold my soul for your freedom. Don't squander it," Jack told her.

"I didn't know you had a soul to sell, Sullivan. I'm honored." Fawkes grinned.

"Don't smile at me. Look angry," Jack grumbled, shooting a look in Weasel's direction. "Joe promised to wipe both our records clean so long as I scab. He figures it'll break the back of the strike."

"It might've, if I hadn't pretended to be a cop and loosed all those newsies. There's a new hero in town."

Fawkes could see Jack bite down on a smile of his own as Fawkes put her hands down at her sides. She pulled them up like she was releasing guns from their holsters and fired somewhere beyond Jack, blowing imaginary smoke from her fingertips when she was done.

It succeeded in giving Jack a little of his spark back, "Be careful. I'm a company man until this strike ends and they set me free. If I put one finger out of place, they've promised to lock me back up. Maybe you too, for all I know. They told me you should get out of town but I knew you wouldn't desert the guys. If you get picked up again, they won't hesitate to send you back to Wyoming."

Fawkes nodded, "So you're in their pocket until the strike ends? And then what?"

"When it's over, they promised to give me money to get out of town."

"And when this strike doesn't end? What about that?"

"They're going to have to accept that women can be masterminds and then they'll come after you. That'll be their mistake. I know you won't flip for me. You've got the hard job, you have to lead the strike without looking like an obvious leader, because they'll target you once they realize that I'm not the one they want." Jack's glance flickered over to Weasel, "You should deck me. He looks suspicious."

Fawkes wrinkled her nose, "Are you sure? Last time I dropped you."

Jack didn't say anything.

Fawkes reached into her pocket for the crumpled up article Denton had given her. She'd read it every couple of hours just to affirm it was real. It was time she handed it off to someone who needed the inspiration. Hiding it against her palm, she offered her hand out to Jack and said loudly, "Let's agree to disagree."

Jack's gaze narrowed but he didn't say anything. He shook her hand, his brows knitting together as he felt her pass him the paper.

Once he had it in his possession, Fawkes swung with her free hand.

The blow glanced off his jaw and Weasel was there immediately, tugging her back to the picket line.

The boys closed in around her as she was thrown back into the thick of them. Many a youth gave her a pat on the back.

Fawkes ignored them. She was thinking about Jack's words. He knew she wouldn't flip for him. She why had he for her? And how the hell was she going to stay out of harm's way and lead the strike at the same time? That was an impossible request. She had to find some way to make it work though, because he was right.

The thing that filled Fawkes with uncertainty was what they would do with Jack once they realized that the strike would continue without him. Would they jail him then? After he did everything they asked? After he went against everything he stood for? She needed to come up with a plan for that.

Fawkes turned back to the matter at hand and pulled Spot aside, "You aren't going to be able to soak those scabs from here. Have some of the boys follow them-discreetly. Once they're on their route, that's when you can knock some sense into them."

Spot nodded and turned away to assign some of his guys.

Race stopped him, "What about Jack?"

"Leave him alone," Fawkes's tone brooked no argument.

Spot treated the girl to a look that could kill.

"For now," Fawkes amended. "He's got his own problems."

After the scabs and the boys Spot had sent to take care of them departed, he returned, still livid. "I know you and him go way back, but-"

"But nothing," Fawkes cut him off.

Spot dared her to argue the point.

"Jack's only over there because of me," she explained.

"What?" Race's voice cracked.

"It seems like the only thing that kid ever does is save my life," Fawkes shook her head. "Pulitzer offered us both a deal, he was that scared. He'd either see us jailed for an eternity, or, if we folded-flipped and brought this strike to a halt-let life get back to normal, he'd rehire us, plus some, and see us safely out of the city so we couldn't trouble him no more.

"I didn't take the deal. I don't think Jack was going to either, but they baited him…" Fawkes fell silent.

Jack was a good guy. He'd been saving her life ever since they met. She'd been trying figure out why he would do it this time. It had to be a good reason. The murder charge was scary, but even after talking to Pulitzer, Jack had told her wasn't going to flip. He was a man of his word. He wouldn't do it because of what it would mean to the guys. So why had he changed his mind? What had happened between Pulitzer's house and the morning that would do it? The inward shudder as she relived those hours revealed the answer.

Mackey.

Snyder had Mackey escort her to her cell that night. Jack must have heard. He was that much of a brother to surrender himself so she wouldn't have to suffer.

It was the only thing that made any sense. She'd promised Jack that she could handle Wyoming.

She'd hoped that for once in his life, he'd cover his own ass and take the money and go to Santa Fe.

If possible, Spot looked even angrier than before.

Fawkes ignored it.

She knew why. Spot seemed to think this admission was further proof that Jack was sweet on her. That wasn't how it was. Spot was just jealous. She'd already explained to him that Jack was a brother to her. She'd thought she and Spot had reached an accord. That appeared to no longer stand true.

She had bigger problems to worry about. Like: what would happen when the strike continued despite Jack changing sides? It wasn't going to end well for Jack, which meant Fawkes had to be prepared.


	20. Chapter 20

Fawkes held the picket line with such dedication that a handful of newsies decided to keep her company. Word spread of her manning a position outside the gates round the clock and more newsies joined her.

Despite Jack's absence, the strike seemed to be gaining momentum.

As the number of young people camping out in the square grew, charges for vagrancy and loitering were threatened, and occasionally cited.

Fawkes should have been scared. It was the kind of thing Jack had warned her about. She couldn't bring herself to yield her position. She wasn't just hanging around in protest. She was doing some pretty important surveillance work.

Jack was being housed in the circulation center. In the basement.

Fawkes had entertained the idea of finding him on his route to try to talk strategy with him, but the Delancey brothers acted as his bodyguards during the day, making sure he didn't stray from the path of righteousness.

After Jack sold his papes, he was escorted to the basement like a prisoner. He could rove the compound but only Weasel and the Delancey brothers handled the locks.

Fawkes's vigilance had a purpose. She planned to get Jack out of Pulitzer's clutches.

Breaking him out looked tricky, but not impossible. The timing had to be right. Once she did it, there'd be no going back. Fawkes could only do it when she was sure Jack had outlived his usefulness. That day was drawing close.

A fight with the Delancey brothers seemed to be the easiest way to get a set of keys. Fawkes wasn't concerned about that. They were dirty fighters, but she didn't expect to win. The fight was a distraction so they could be pickpocketed.

The tricky part was the compound itself.

Since they'd been camping out in the square, a flatfoot was stationed there at night to keep watch, and probably, to keep the peace.

Newsies, in their right mind, feared the cops. But there were more newsies in the square than the flatfoot could handle if they decided to rush him. He wouldn't be hard to overpower. They just had to make sure he didn't get to his whistle before he went down or else they'd be in a heap of trouble.

After a week, routines seemed set. The newsies were strengthening.

Pulitzer would realize soon that they weren't giving up, if he hadn't already. He'd realize Jack didn't have the power he'd originally anticipated. Maybe they would come after Fawkes to lean on Jack harder. Maybe they would just throw her in prison and call it a day. With her out of the picture, the cause would surely be lost.

Fawkes couldn't afford that. She'd worked too hard for this.

It was time to make her move.

* * *

><p>A lean figure with a cowboy hat pulled low was leaning against a building on Jack's paper route. Tufts of red hair could be seen around her ears as Fawkes picked at her nails, waiting.<p>

"I heard a rumor from the newsies that have since scabbed that you've got yourself a girlfriend over at that vaudeville joint." That was a Delancey speaking. They were approaching. "How would you feel if me and Morris went and introduced ourselves?"

Fawkes heard Jack chuckle in response. Proof to Fawkes that Spot was being foolish. The Delanceys were trying to get a rise out of Jack and failed. It would have worked on Spot because the guy was sweet on her. Jack wasn't.

"Go ahead," Jack told them.

They'd drawn close enough so that Fawkes could see the brothers look dumbly at each other. It was clear that wasn't the sort of reaction they'd expected. "You sure?" Morris was skeptical.

Oscar's brows were knitted together, "I seem to recall someone describing her with pale eyes and long legs."

Jack nodded, not paying either of them the time of day, "Sounds about right. Some might even accuse her of having the voice of an angel." Fawkes saw a grin steal across his face. He always was her biggest fan.

"You wouldn't have a problem with us finding out just how far those legs go?" Oscar pushed. "Those dresses leave a lot to the imagination."

"I promise you, she won't disappoint," Jack's voice was light, but there was an edge to it now.

Oscar grinned and nudged Morris, "So you already know?"

"If I know one thing, I know you boys won't get as far as you'd like. That girl's my sister, not my girlfriend," Jack corrected them. "Our familial resemblance lies in our fists."

The Delanceys looked at each other, confused.

This time, Fawkes was the one grinning. "It's important to keep company with those who can look after you as well as theirself," she spoke up, pushing up the brim on her hat to get a good look at them.

Jack's eyes narrowed. If they didn't have company, he would have scolded her. She'd lost her anonymity. She'd drawn attention to herself. She was identifiable now. She'd have to find a new way to hide in the crowd. He didn't know that it wouldn't matter after this.

The Delancey brothers were infamous for their lack of brains. They recognized the hat from Weasel's demonstration the other day but not the person under it. "You again?" Oscar nudged his brother and the pair split to flank her.

"I just couldn't stay away," Fawkes shrugged.

"You should have," Jack's voice was serious.

"Well, there's some things I needed…" she trailed off as Oscar drew level with her. She pushed off of the wall and stood tall.

Fawkes resettled the hat on her head so her vision wasn't obstructed when punches got thrown.

Oscar Delancey made eye contact and blinked repeatedly-like he didn't believe what he was seeing. Maybe these guys were smarter than folks gave them credit for.

The fact that he'd been rendered dumb gave Morris reason to pause behind her.

Oscar's eyes dropped to her feet. She was wearing cowboy boots, but the pants she was wearing, a faded wool, were too short in the legs. His gaze rose to just shy of her neck. "Were there some things you needed to get off your chest?"

Fawkes grinned at the bad joke.

She'd spent the past few weeks masquerading as a boy. The only ones who knew the truth were Racetrack and Jack, and that was because she knew them from before. Spot knew because he'd interacted with her before and after her haircut. Nobody suggested she might have been anything other than a boy until she'd gotten arrested. She wasn't around any of the guys long enough for them to notice. It wasn't their business, anyway. Selling papes was.

The newsies struggled with pronouns when they addressed her now, but she didn't correct them. She didn't care.

How had this guy picked it up immediately? She was skinny from a life of malnutrition, but her body was not without curves. Her voice was of an ambiguous timbre. Since she was from the west, she was considered wild by eastern standards. She bore no resemblance to the girls in this part of the country. She could hock papes and she could brawl with the best of the newsies. They had no reason to think she was anything other than a boy.

"You're smarter than folks give you credit for," Fawkes acknowledged. She waited half a beat before swinging from her left. It was her dominant side.

Her fist made contact with Oscar's cheek. His head twisted to the side.

She heard a sound behind her.

She'd forgotten about Morris.

Fawkes dove for Oscar, barely avoiding a blow to the back of her head. The two grappled on the ground while Morris tried to figure out what to do. He decided to send a kick in her direction.

It caught the girl in the gut and she relinquished her hold on Oscar. She tumbled away to give herself space to recover.

Oscar popped into a crouch wiping blood from a cut on his lip. Fawkes had gotten a few good blows in while they fought for control.

He grinned. His front teeth were smeared with blood, "I'm going to enjoy this."

Fawkes grinned back, "You're gonna have to wait."

She jumped to her feet and sprinted away.


	21. Chapter 21

Fawkes was huddled in the shade of Horace Greeley's monument when Jack was escorted back by the Delanceys. She knew because of the murmurs that rippled through the crowd.

"When the Delanceys go to lock him up, aren't they going to notice they're missing their keys?" Spot wondered. He was standing over her, watching Jack's return from a distance.

"I reckon they'll be looking for me. It's why I am sitting down here. They could just assume they lost their keys in the tussle." Even she didn't believe the story she was selling.

Spot said nothing for a span and she knew why. He didn't believe it either. "You ran away from the fight," he said at last.

"I was outnumbered. Of course I did." When her response was met with silence, Fawkes raised her gaze. Spot was eyeing her curiously. He knew she didn't make a habit of running.

"Oscar made me," she admitted quietly.

"What do you mean?" Racetrack piped up.

"He knew I was a girl before the fight even started," Fawkes explained. "I wasn't going to let him get up close and personal."

"But you have the keys?" Race asked.

Fawkes pulled a ring, with a handful of clunky keys attached to it, from her pocket.

"Now what?" Race wanted to know.

"We wait for nightfall," Fawkes replied. "Then, we make our move."

As night descended on the streets of New York, Fawkes recruited folks to jump the cop that would stand guard that night.

She'd assembled a handful when she heard commotion behind her. She turned to address the issue.

Patrick Mackey was talking to a handful of cops on the corner. The Delanceys were there too.

The girl felt her breath catch in her throat.

No.

She dropped into a crouch and watched the scene play out between the milling bodies of the newsies. There weren't enough cops to expect to comb the area and come up successful if they intended to search for her.

Was Mackey trying to entice them to stay? He was going to need the backup. Mackey might not know how tricky she could be, but he knew better than to underestimate her. He'd done it before and he wouldn't let it happen again. The Delanceys knew she was no slouch either.

"Do you think they're here for you?" Spot had dropped level with her.

His interruption brought a whole new angle to her postulations. Were they here to collect her, not because of her tussle with the Delanceys, but because they'd realized Jack wasn't the person they needed to quell this strike? She'd made things easy for the cops to find something to charge her with by roughing up Oscar.

* * *

><p>Jack loitered by the fence, watching the Delanceys and the former King of Brooklyn in the growing dark. They were arguing with some other cops. Eventually, the extra cops shuffled away, leaving only Mackey. He looked livid.<p>

Jack didn't have to guess that Fox was the reason why. He knew.

She was up to something. He didn't know what, but he did know he wasn't going to like it. She wouldn't have broken her cover to fight the Delanceys unless she had a reason.

He'd struggled all day to make sense of what he'd seen. He knew Fox. She fought tooth and nail. She always had.

Why had she only thrown a couple punches and then run away? She didn't make of any her usual small talk or banter that normally would have given him a clue.

She had to be playing them. She wasn't foolish. She could avoid detection when necessary.

So why had she revealed herself?

Jack had noticed the bolstered ranks of the strikers. They hung out in the square round the clock now. Fox was among them. She was the reason why.

It was only a matter of time before Pulitzer's men tracked her down. Before, they hadn't been able to confirm if she was still in the city. Now, they knew she was. They would (rightly) assume she was the reason the newsie strike hadn't faltered. They would find her in the square, holding her position. They would charge her with assault. But then what? Would Pulitzer jail her? Would he try to get her to flip?

Jack knew she wouldn't. His concern was what would happen when Pulitzer got his hands on Fox. Would Jack Kelly become redundant? Would Pulitzer re-neg on his deal? It seemed highly probable. That man couldn't be trusted.

The teen let out a snort of realization.

Fox was one step ahead of him. Because she was free, she ensured the strike would prevail. She knew that Pulitzer would not be pleased with that. She'd anticipated Jack's position becoming tenuous.

She was planning an escape so that Pulitzer couldn't use him as leverage in whatever happened next.

Jack grinned at the idea. He knew there was a reason he kept her around.

* * *

><p>Fawkes waited until the only light was that offered by the streetlamps before making her move.<p>

The Delancey brothers keeping watch with Mackey was not something she'd planned for.

Being able to think on your feet is what keeps you alive on the streets.

She'd planned on being Jack's retrieval, that way she could explain to him why she was doing what she was doing. Three men standing guard changed things.

She could recruit more men, but Fawkes knew what would work better. The common denominator was her. Mackey had words to say to her, and the Delancey brothers had a score to settle. She was the perfect distraction.

Fawkes delegated retrieval to Racetrack. Spot was going to lead the charge on Mackey.

The game plan set, the girl strode past the newsies camped out on the picket line, still wearing Jack's cowboy hat.

It wasn't until she crossed into No Man's Land that they noticed her.

Oscar glared at the girl, "You have something that belongs to me."

Fawkes slipped her hands into her pockets, "Come and take it then."

Oscar's frown turned upside-down. A grin flashed across his face, but it was gone in a matter of moments. He shot a look over at Mackey. The look that replaced it was suspicious. He was clearly recalling their fight earlier in the day.

Fawkes removed her hands from her pockets and held them up in a show of innocence, "Really. You think I have something of yours. I know I don't. That's why I came over here. To see if I could help clear up this misunderstanding. I assumed it had something to do with me."

Nobody moved.

"You can search me if you want," she offered.

Oscar stepped forward.

Mackey extended his arm and, with it, his nightstick, halting the brother.

Mackey had looked suspicious from the start. Now, he just looked grumpy. "I don't know what sort of game you're trying to play, but it's not going to work."

"I'm just trying to clear up a misunderstanding with this gentleman," Fawkes lowered her hands and pointed at Oscar. "I don't like being falsely accused of things," she narrowed her eyes meaningfully at Mackey. "I want the matter settled."

"We have no time for your notions of honor," Mackey informed her. "You're coming with me to see Mr. Pulitzer."

Fawkes had to remind herself to breathe. And form a comeback. "Like hell."

"There's three of us and one of you, be smart about this. You can't fight us all."

Fawkes grinned, "I can fight you all. Doesn't mean I'll win."

Mackey managed a smile, "So you'll come with me?"

"Not a chance." Fawkes was ready to run. She didn't like the look she was getting from Oscar, and she refused to be manhandled by Mackey. There was an alley just down the way. She could make it there no problem. Would they pursue was the big question. The alley was a dead end. The newsies would be able to corner and subdue them.

Mackey saw her begin to twist her feet away. "Don't do this," he warned.

"Don't tell me what to do," she shot back.

"Just come with me to see Mr. Pulitzer," he tried.

"No. You didn't give me a choice."

"There is no other choice, Connie. If you don't come with me willingly, Mr. Pulitzer will hire men to bring you to him and they won't be nearly as friendly."

Fawkes seemed to consider it. She gave a sort of half-nod. "If you want me, you're goinna have to work for it." She set off down the street at half-speed.

The men followed after her, watching her turn down a side alley.

It was dark there. The high walls prevented any illumination by the street lamps on the main road.

Fawkes stood on the edge of the light that had managed to filter into the alley. Behind her was darkness.

When the men turned into the alley and saw her facing them, they pulled up short.

They were all immediately on their guard. There was no way that she could beat all three of them. They were seasoned thugs. They could easily overpower her.

What made them uneasy was that she wasn't cowering with fear.

"What are you up to?" Mackey demanded.

"You'll find out," Fawkes grinned.

In the silence that filled the alley, they became aware of approaching footsteps. There were many feet and they were moving quickly.

The men turned to face the sound, aware that they were backed into a corner. That was when they heard more feet, coming from behind Fawkes.

Newsies surged toward the thugs from both the street and the dark. They were tackled and brought to ground by their blindside.

When Mackey was taken down, hands grappled for the whistle he carried and yanked it from his possession.

They found no fight from him.

His head had bounced off of the cobble. He was unconscious.

Kid Blink wasn't taking any chances. He delivered a swift kick, just to be sure.

The coordinated attack had caught Mackey by surprise. He wasn't used to a clever two-pronged attack. He was more familiar with people running away when they saw him.

Oscar and Morris were used to this sort of thing. They didn't have a commanding presence or Mackey's history. They readied their fists and stood back to back.

Surprised with how easily they'd subdued Mackey, the newsies swarmed the Delancey brothers and made short work of them. In a matter of minutes, all three men were bound and gagged.

Fawkes didn't wait and watch. She got out of the alley as soon as she was able. She was heading for the door on the far side of the circulation center.

She'd decided against using the big creaky gates that served as the front entrance. Not only was the location too open and exposed, it was going to be noisy, which would attract unwanted attention.

Jack was slinking through the shadows toward her, Race at his side. "What are you up to?" He wanted to know when he identified her silhouette.

"This strike is refusing to go away. I don't want to be stuck on the defensive. I don't want to sit idly by and wait while they comb the city for me because having you in their pocket didn't work."

"What does any of that have to do with breaking me out?"

"I needed to talk to you, to discuss our options and to make some plans, and not have to worry about your bodyguards getting in the way."

Jack nodded, "How bout I do you one better?"

"You've got a plan?" Fawkes's face lit up.

"Yeah. It starts with finding the guy who wrote this…" Jack held up a tattered and creased sheet of paper.

Denton's article.

"We can do that," Fawkes said.

After Denton had ditched them, a few newsies had come forward to tell Spot that they knew where the guy lived, if anyone was planning some revenge action. They were hoping Spot would send some of his bigger Brookies to make Denton regret turning his back on them.

Spot had resisted, partly out of shock-the full extent of everything that had happened in that twenty-four hours hadn't sunk in yet. Later, he turned them down because Denton wasn't like them-he wasn't some rough kid on the streets who'd rolled on them to save his own skin. He was an adult. A respected one. He'd done them a favor by taking their pictures and getting their names and cause in his newspaper to be read by the populace.

They all knew that newspapers were fickle. What's news one day is garbage is the next. Their mistake was trusting Denton so implicitly and all he could do. He'd made them famous for a day because his job was reporting the news. His boss had decided that news was better elsewhere.

They knew better. Trust isn't a thing you should give easily. People will turn on you for the right motivation. It's safer not to get attached.

Spot had related the story to Fawkes when she'd been freed from the Refuge to see where she stood on the issue. He'd been surprised when she agreed not to move against him. He should have known better. She'd made him promise not to move against Jack and he'd betrayed them too.


	22. Chapter 22

It didn't take long to find Spot. He and his guys were filtering out of the alleyway where they'd left their prizes.

Spot not only offered up the names of the guys who knew where Denton lived, he helped to root them out. They were among those loitering in the square. They willingly gave up the address.

"What's the plan then?" Race asked as he, Fawkes, Jack, and Spot set off at a jog for Denton's apartment.

"That depends on if Denton will help and whether or not the Delancey's come to check on me," Jack replied.

"Don't worry about the Delanceys," Fawkes said.

Jack quirked a brow in question.

The girl jerked a thumb towards Spot who was loping alongside them, "He took care of them."

Jack was very familiar with Spot's reputation. "Took care of them how?" He asked in even tones.

"I had Mackey and the Delanceys immobilized so we had the freedom to roam tonight," Fawkes explained. "I wasn't expecting you to be so quick on your feet."

Jack grinned in response and picked up the pace.

Four bodies hurtled up the staircase of Denton's apartment building. They split up as they inspected the door numbers.

Jack halted before a door. He took a deep breath, looked at his companions, and then knocked.

Footsteps approached the door from within.

It opened an inch.

A sliver of Bryan Denton peered out at them.

The door shut, a lock was freed, and the door opened again, this time revealing all of the newspaperman. "What are you-?" Denton only got half of his question out before Jack got impatient.

Cowboy pushed into the apartment, unfolding the paper in his possession. "Did you mean what you wrote here?" Jack demanded.

By some miracle, Denton recognized his unpublished article, "I never write anything I don't mean."

"Good," Jack nodded. "We're going to need you to come with us."

"I can't-" Denton started.

Jack nodded again, like he heard the whole of Denton's argument in those two words. "You can't write about us in any of the major papes in the city. I know. You're happy to see us, but you don't want us here. I understand the feeling. Just hear me out: What if we recruited you to do a special edition?"

Denton looked equal parts hesitant and intrigued.

"See, it just so happens, I have access to a printing press," Jack grinned. "But I'm a just newsie. I only know how to hock papes, not to make them. That's where you come in. You write something and help us print it. Then us newsies will do what we know how: we'll distribute it.

"As for what to write: I've been thinking about that. We've got every newsie in the city striking and it hasn't made a difference. We know we're on strike, but no one else does because no one's printing it. Even if they were, there's no one to distribute. What if we broaden our horizons? Pulitzer's not caving because we don't have enough power. You say in this article that the city relies on child labor. That's how we'll win.

"To get recognition, we'll bring this city to a standstill. I say we recruit all the kids working all over the city. We'll get their attention with our free special edition, and in it, we'll advertise a city-wide walk-out. That way it won't just be a newspaper problem, it'll be something the whole city has to deal with. They'll have to concede-" Jack trailed off, looking at the article in his hands.

The boy didn't need to finish his argument. Denton was nodding in agreement after the first few well thought out sentences. "Let's get to that printing press," Denton said.

Jack led them back to the circulation center. He reclaimed the keys from Racetrack and used them to open the side door. Together, they crept into the basement and saw where Jack had been living.

There was a rusted old cot in the corner and a bag of Jack's belongings beside it. Everything except for Jack's things was soot and dust-covered. The rest of the room was occupied by broken and out of date equipment. In the center was a canvas-covered object of some size.

Denton peeked underneath it and grinned. He pulled off the canvas and dust billowed into the air as the printing press was revealed, "I can work with this."

He sent Spot and Racetrack to find him paper and made Fawkes and Jack look for letters so he could set the type.

When Race was successful in his paper query, Fawkes sent him topside to check on their prisoners.

This night would end poorly if Mackey or the Delanceys got free and they all got busted for unlawful entry.

Race, being clever, decided to climb out one of the half windows instead of risking detection on the creaky steps. He returned to report that all was well: the men were still gagged and bound in the shadows of the alley.

Denton had just set the type. He was preparing to roll out the first edition of the _Newsies Banner_.

"I was going to call it the _Newsboys Banner,_" Denton said as he pulled the first one from the press, the ink still wet. "But that would have been a misnomer," he grinned at Fawkes.

"Thanks," she said.

"It's the least I could do. You're as much the heart and soul of this as Jack is."

That was as sentimental as they could afford to get. They had a lot of work ahead of them.

As dawn broke, the finished product was being handed out the window to many awaiting faces.

Kid Blink and Mush were among those that looked a little worse for wear. They were part of the crew that had helped out in the alley.

Everyone crawled out of the basement with the last of the papes and exited the compound. They'd divvied up the boroughs among all the newsies to maximize distribution. Fawkes and Jack agreed to split up, to cover more ground, but they had other reasons.

Denton put a hand on Jack's shoulder before they parted ways, "It was very nice of Mr. Pulitzer to let us use his printing press."

Jack grinned, "Yeah, I just hope I get to thank him for it one day."


	23. Chapter 23

As morning progressed, the shadows regressed. The night had been able to hide Mackey and the Delancey brothers.

Day could not.

When Mackey and the Delanceys got free, they were going to come after Jack and Fawkes. It seemed beneficial for them not to be in the same place.

Spot volunteered to keep Fawkes company. Racetrack offered to go with Jack.

In their pairs, they scoured the early morning streets, distributing their self-published paper to any kid who could read. When their hands were empty, the only thing left to do was wait.

If everything went as planned, the new recruits would converge on the square in front of the World building at noon. Until then, they had to find some place to hunker down while the word spread.

The logical place would be the square-to rally the troops and wait. Fawkes knew she shouldn't. If Mackey and the Delanceys were free, they would be waiting for her to turn up so they could arrest her.

Fawkes decided to go to Medda's. She was hoping to nap in the wings or her old dressing room to recharge for a couple hours before the final showdown.

Medda welcomed the girl with open arms. The singer should have been angry, considering the damage the cops and Pulitzer's goons had done to the place. Instead, she was just glad to see Fawkes safe. Witnessing grown men beat up mere kids had hardened her heart against the authority in the city.

"Have you come to get your old job back?" Medda asked with a grin. "You're welcome to sing here anytime."

"Maybe one day. I'm just looking for a small corner of quiet to call my own," Fawkes answered.

"I don't know that you'll find that here," Medda made a face. "I'm going to keep that storage closet of a dressing room open for you until you book passage for Ireland, in case you change your mind."

"Thanks."

Jack was slumped in the chair in Fawkes's dressing room when she and Spot slipped inside.

Spot identified Jack by his hair and turned back towards the door, "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea."

"What do you mean?" Fawkes was puzzled by his itchiness to leave.

"You and Jack both consider this to be a safe place. How can you be sure that it still is? You both got arrested here. How do you know that they won't look for you here just as readily as they will where we've been staying?"

Fawkes shrugged, "I don't. They knew to come here before because we advertised that the rally would here. They don't know that we have any connections beyond that."

"They do," a new voice added.

Spot and Fawkes whipped their heads around to find Jack sitting up.

"Oscar knew you worked here. He threatened to come down and introduce himself before you met him a little less formally on the street," Jack explained. "He knows what you look like. And that you're a newsie as well as a singer. When he doesn't find you on the street this morning, he might try here."

Fawkes was silent. Jack was right. She'd overheard that conversation between Jack and Oscar. She'd forgotten. She couldn't stay here because they might think to look for her here. "If they show up, they'll be looking for me. That won't stop them from trying to hold you," she told Jack.

"I can handle the Delanceys," Jack replied, resettling himself in the seat.

Fawkes bristled. As if she couldn't?

"She's right," Spot spoke up, sensing the impending disagreement.

Jack peered over the head of the chair to glare at the boy, "You would side with her."

Spot rolled his eyes, "This is a big day. Let's not ruin it by having either of you get arrested. You should both be present in the square later today. It was you guys who started this. You should both be there to see it through to the end."

"You're getting cocky," Fawkes accused Spot. "No one said anything about this ending today."

Spot bit down on his response. She was trying to get a rise out of him. He could see it.

"That sorted," Fawkes said, turning away when he didn't rise to the bait, "we should get out of here." It would appear that napping was not on the horizon for her today. "Let's stay split up, just in case."

Jack nodded as he stood, "Probably wouldn't hurt to take the scenic route getting back. We've still got some time to kill."

Fawkes didn't respond. She slipped out the door. Spot was close on her heels.

The pair set off from the back entrance while Jack used the front. They met back up at the square. There were some newsies milling around by the monument, but fewer than usual. They must still be out distributing papes.

Fawkes felt a sinking feeling in her chest. What if they didn't arrive in time?

Racetrack and Kid Blink were pacing when Fawkes, Spot, and Jack arrived.

Race looked relieved when he saw them, "About time!"

Fawkes cast a look around, "What's the rush?" She was trying not to let the unease build inside of her. They still had an hour.

"We've been waiting for you."

Fawkes was immediately suspicious. She hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary on her cursory inspection. There weren't even any cops milling around. She hadn't considered Racetrack as a traitor until this moment. He'd been with Jack earlier, but when she ran into Jack at Medda's, Cowboy was by himself. Where had Racetrack been? More importantly: what had he been up to?

Fawkes found it hard to believe that he would flip. Racetrack was a small time bookie whose only crime was being an orphan. He had no reason.

That was when she saw that he was concealing a grin. There was nothing sinister about him. She was overreacting.

"I thought you might want to hear about the fate of your friends in the alley," Race began.

Kid Blink pushed Race aside, "Like you'd know. You were off with Jack."

Race crossed his arms and wrinkled his nose, but he didn't say anything.

Kid Blink grinned, "It was the morning crew who came to hold the line-only there weren't no newsies to push against, being where we all had jobs this morning. One of the bulls went down that alley-to take a piss, I reckon. He shouted for help, which is how our friends got free. They were cursing you left and right and were demanding that the cops round up all the newsies. Of course, when they got back on the street…"

Fawkes nodded. The newsies had deserted the square to distribute their paper this morning. There was no one to round up.

"The cops waited a couple hours, just in case," Kid Blink continued. "But there was no one to subdue or intimidate, so I imagine they slipped on back to their precincts."

"Old Joe must be loving the quiet," Jack remarked, looking to the top of the World building. He turned back to grin at Fawkes.

She was wearing a smile as well. She hadn't anticipated this. It was going to work out well in their favor. Was it possible those in positions of power thought this thing was over?

Fawkes didn't mind. She liked the idea of lulling them into a false sense of security, only to knock their socks off later.

"They're probably just trying to make sense of what's going on," the girl said. "We attacked their thugs. They know Jack is gone. They're probably puzzled as to why we aren't raging in the streets. For once, they're waiting to see what our next move is."

"They'll find out," Spot promised.

Fawkes hoped so. They'd done everything they could do. Their endgame relied on strangers. She didn't like the idea. She liked the grand gesture. Pulitzer could pay people to ignore his problem, but he couldn't pay the whole city. That was how they'd win.

As the minutes drew closer to noon, Fawkes and Jack began to display their nervousness by pacing. They marched towards each other, passed, turned, and passed again. Neither wanted to voice their concern.

What if nobody showed?

Spot grabbed her shoulder.

She didn't turn. She didn't need to.

A whole bunch of bike messengers had just rounded a corner and were coming down the block. They were heading straight for her.

Behind her, Race and Kid Blink were pointing over each other's shoulders, their mouths wide open in disbelief. Young people were flowing towards them from every street that led to the square.

Jack shoved her, a grin on her face, "Nice work, Ginger."

She shoved him back, "It was your plan, Sullivan."

Jack scrambled up onto the monument to watch all the bodies flock toward him.

On the periphery, Fawkes noticed the policemen. A group this massive couldn't escape attention. That was the point. The police must have followed to figure out what they were up to.

Their plan had worked.

Everyone was here.

Fawkes realized suddenly: there was no way out. They'd trapped themselves. When the bulls got sicced on them, there'd be nowhere to run. They couldn't. There were too many people.

The girl tried not to think about that. Instead, she looked out over the hundreds? thousands? that clogged the square, proud of this accomplishment.

In the crowd were familiar faces-newsies she'd fought alongside and defended; unfamiliar faces who didn't have a voice; enemies-she saw the Delancey brothers trying to work their way closer to center; and friends-Denton was pushing his way toward them.

As the groups, coming from their respective directions, met each other in the square, they crowded in close. What looked like a mass of people was actually organized groups of workers. There were the bike messengers, chimney sweeps, factory workers, and everything in between.

After everything Fawkes had seen, between people letting her down or trying to screw her over, this was something beautiful to behold. The young people clumped together, but they still didn't fit in the square. They filled the side streets and the main roadways in solidarity. Once there was no space left to fill, the groups were forced to come to a halt. They began chanting, "Strike! Strike! Strike!"

It was deafening in such close proximity, with so many voices raised toward the World building.

Not long after, the front door of the World building opened and one of Pulitzer's refined lackeys stepped out. The cops had surrounded the building as if they expected the group to mob it.

Fawkes poked Jack in the leg. He was still standing on the Horace Greeley monument, chanting with the rest of the strikers. He looked down and saw who was hailing him. He bent double to hear what she had to say.

Fawkes shouted as she pointed, "I think we're up!"

Cowboy nodded and jumped to ground level. The pair pushed their way through to the front door. Mackey was there, in addition to a finely dressed man with white whiskers for sideburns. He looked friendly enough-like a bulldog. He looked nicer than Pulitzer.

The pair were shown to the top floor where Pulitzer was waiting.

The old man was puffing on a cigar, holding onto a leather-backed chair for dear life. His eyes narrowed as they entered. Another man with a sniveling voice stopped the man with the sideburns.

He was whispering that the city was an uproar. Everyone was calling to complain or blame Pulitzer for bringing this about.

The teenagers kept their heads down so they wouldn't get scolded for smirking, but it didn't stop them from sending sidelong glances at each other.

As they approached the mahogany desk that separated them from the man, Pulitzer began his tirade. His voice was soft, but the tone was threatening, "If you defied me, I promised to break you. If you had done as I asked, you could be free-"

Jack cut him off, "You and I both know that's not how it was going down, Joe. The strike was growing stronger even without me. You were never going to give me my freedom, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I can't be something I'm not."

"Smart?" Pulitzer guessed.

Jack forced a smile, "A scab."

"But I gave you everything-"

"And you could take it all back on whimsy, just to remind me that I am nothing and you are everything. I can't live like that, Joe."

"I don't understand," Pulitzer rumbled. "Anyone who doesn't act in his own self interest is a fool."

Fawkes couldn't hide her smile, "What does that make you?"

Pulitzer honed in on her, "What did you say to me?"

Fawkes stepped forward, "I said, 'what does that make you?' You sit up here in this tower pretending you're better than us-"

"I am better than you!" He roared.

Fawkes's easy grin never left her face, "With the strike on, circulation's gotta be pretty low for you. You can't be making much profit these days. A smart man would acknowledge that and try to remedy it by making a deal with his newsies and putting an end to this strike. Instead, you try to squash us under your boot like ants you didn't invite to your picnic. You need us, but you won't listen to what we have to say. You refuse to yield your position and allow an agreement to be reached. I don't understand why. You must be losing thousands of dollars. You've pushed beyond stubborn and into the realm of stupidity it seems."

"He can't yield to us," Jack explained, "because we're nothing. If he did, that would give us power. He's willing to bankrupt himself to prove that we don't matter at all, even though he knows full well we do."

Pulitzer didn't like to hear that, "I've sent for the police. Seeing as how you've both got crimes to answer for, you won't be my problem for much longer."

Fawkes could see Jack starting to get angry. She understood what he was feeling. Everything they'd said was true. Pulitzer was being stubborn to the point of his own detriment, all so he wouldn't be seen folding to two orphans from off the street. Two orphans with rap sheets. He was too concerned with his own image to see this wasn't about him. It was about justice being served. It was about the little guy standing up for what he believed in and getting acknowledged and thanked for his contribution to society, instead of getting ignored and kicked around for once.

Maybe it was because they were kids and he didn't like that they were being disrespectful, or that they had so thoroughly smoked him. But, Fawkes told herself, they were only being rude because Pulitzer was treating them like something he'd stepped in-something he could ignore if he just closed his eyes and wished it away. They had to be unruly to get a reaction.

"I'm not going back to jail, Joe," Jack said. He moved around the desk to the French doors that looked out over the square. "I'll tell you why, because this isn't about you threatening us anymore. It's bigger now. The whole city is standing right outside your door because they object to how you're treating us. They're waiting to see what you'll do. They know you created this mess. They know you're the only one who can fix it. Can't you hear them asking you to fix things?"

It was impossible not to. On the streets, the sound was deafening. Up here, it was a dull roar-until Jack opened the door.

The sound slammed through every person in the room.

Pulitzer put his hands over his ears, his cigar forgotten. He couldn't help but be drawn to the sound. To the sight. Everyone on the street and in the square was there to protest against him.

He tried to shout to them. "Go home! Go home to your mothers and fathers!"

Jack laughed, "That's it? That's all you got, Joe?" He was forced to yell over the din of the crowd to be heard. "Those kids have to work because their parents can't make enough to get by. Their parents' bosses won't pay them a livable wage because like you, they deem folks who weren't born to money and privilege, people who work for a living, as less than human. Or maybe their parents got hurt on the job and they got laid off. They're useless now and they had no union to protect them and now their kids have to work in their stead, risking injury or premature death. That's if they got parents at all, Joe. How are the kids who don't have parents supposed to get by? Those kids are me and Fox, Joe. Who are we supposed to go home to? Who are we supposed to rely on to survive?"

Jack slammed the door shut as Pulitzer cowered away, the noise was too much. It was overpowering him.

"No one." Jack's voice was quiet as the sounds on the street were dulled. The effect of the transition was profound, and Fawkes couldn't help but smile at her friend at his skill for theatrics. "We've got no one in this world, Joe, but the family we create. That's why us newsies bonded together. We're all we have. We work because we need to eat and we can't rely on anyone to help us. With what little you pay us, we can't even afford to eat some days. That's what this is about, Joe. That's all we're asking for. Put the price back where it was so we aren't starving in the streets."

Pulitzer was fixing Jack with a look Fawkes didn't trust.

"We work for you, Joe," Fawkes spoke up. "You command a lot of power in this city. People listen when you speak, and they do what you tell them. Imagine the precedent you could set. By giving the newsies a livable wage, you'll get more employees. They'll increase your distribution. Not only that, imagine how your reputation would improve, by lending a hand to those less fortunate, by taking care of kids who live on the streets who might otherwise end up as vagrants. Increasing employment, reduces crime. I think I read that somewhere," Fawkes remarked.

Jack was stone-faced when he spoke up, "We don't just sell your papes, Joe. Sometimes we read them too."

Fawkes sent Jack a look before continuing, "There's a lot of people outside and they aren't going away until you do something. You won't be able to solve it by throwing us in jail. They've found their voices, and they know they have the power to stop this city now, whether or not you want to acknowledge that they can."

Pulitzer was silent as he took a seat.

Fawkes glanced over at Jack, trying not to get too hopeful. Was it possible that they were going to get down to business and settle this thing?

"How is it possible you got so many people to assemble?" Pulitzer wondered.

Fawkes could see the man wore glasses, so his vision was questionable, but all the strikers who weren't holding signs, were waving the _Newsies Banne_r in the air. He had to have noticed.

"We knew we weren't getting much press, Joe, so we printed up a special edition," Fawkes explained, shooting a hesitant look over at Jack.

He was grinning. He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a folded up paper. "Extra, extra, read all about it." He unfolded the sheet and laid it out flat on Pulitzer's desk.

The man pulled a magnifying glass from a drawer and moved it over the headline.

"It's a pretty good paper, Chief," the man with the sideburns spoke up.

Fawkes started. She'd forgotten he was there, he'd been so silent, she'd mistaken him for one of the fine furnishings in the room.

Pulitzer didn't get very far into it. He looked up suddenly, "I put a ban on all strike matters. How did you get access to a printing press?"

Jack smiled, "I know a guy."

Pulitzer was silent, no doubt trying to figure out if Jack was being serious or if it was a joke.

"I learned from you that I should only accept the very best," Jack continued. "So, I just wanted to say: thanks."

Pulitzer's gaze narrowed as he put it all together. He could ignore them if he considered them criminals. He couldn't ignore that they were smart. They'd divided and conquered. They let him think Jack was in charge, and when he'd been out of commission, the girl had stepped up. They'd figured out a way to use his own press against him. It galled him to discuss terms with these upstarts, but he was out of options and they'd proven to be formidable opponents.

"What do you want?"

"For you to put the price back where it was," Jack said.

"I don't have that power. Every paper in the city did it."

"At your behest," Fawkes accused. "You can tell them to put it back. You're the one who made them change it in the first place."

"I could try," Pulitzer didn't sound convinced. "And if they don't agree?"

"They will," Jack promised. "They want us to go back to being subservient as much as you do."

"But if they don't?" Pulitzer pushed.

Jack looked to Fawkes with raised brows. The girl grinned, "If they don't, then tell them that we demand they buy back every pape we don't sell."

It was Pulitzer's brows that raised this time. "Buy back every pape?" He repeated.

"You asked for our demands. Now you have them. If you return the price to where it was, we stand a chance of getting by. If you want to keep the price where it is, we'd like you to buy back every pape we can't sell. When news is slow or the headline is bad, we still gotta eat, and it happens to us the most in winter when food is all that separates us from living or dying. The higher price makes that impossible, but if you let us sell back our unsold papes, we can survive on that. We can't eat unsold papes."

Pulitzer seemed to consider his options, "You wouldn't mind waiting outside? I have some phone calls to make."

Jack and Fawkes nodded and let themselves out. They were silent as they waited. They could still make out the drone of the chanters some stories below.

Fawkes could see Jack wanted to discuss what she'd offered Pulitzer, but he knew better than to do it in enemy territory. They had to present a united front here.

Sometime later, they were readmitted. Pulitzer agreed to recognize their demands that papes only cost fifty cents a hundred. All the papers would follow his example, he promised.

The pair waited until they were out of the building before celebrating. It all seemed so unreal, that they should get what they'd wanted after so long.


	24. Chapter 24

Newsies surged around Jack and Fawkes as they were released back onto the street.

"Buy back papes?" Jack's voice was meant to be a whisper, but he had to shout to be heard.

"They knew what we wanted. They would have given it to us, they might have even made us haggle for it. I wasn't in a mood to play games. Getting them to buy back papes would save a lot of us when there's a crappy headline."

Jack made a face, "Headlines don't sell papes, newsies sell papes."

"That's not the point. They wanted us to concede, to take less than we offered. By voicing an option I knew that they would hate, they had no choice but to accept our original terms."

Jack grinned, "You always were good at cutting deals."

"You doubted me?"

"No, sometimes I just forget."

Fawkes grinned and they acknowledged the newsies buzzing around them, wanting to know the results.

Jack climbed onto the gate of the circulation center, and the folks in his vicinity silenced. The hush raced out into the crowd and all eyes fixed on the Cowboy.

"We won!" He announced.

People rippled and surged as they shared the good news with the folks around them. The volume, which started out as a soft hum after Jack's announcement, exploded into cheers as news got round.

The gates were pushed open and Jack was forced to dismount.

It was time for circulation if the strike was over.

Jack and Fawkes grinned and shook hands standing in front of the open gates, congratulating each other on a job well done, when a silence descended on the crowd.

A police wagon was approaching.

Their hands dropped and their eyes widened. Had Pulitzer double-crossed them?

Denton grabbed Jack as the pair started to flee.

Fawkes had already analyzed this. She knew getting out of the square would be hard. What if she fled via the circulation side door? That hadn't been a possible escape route before. Right now it seemed like the only option...

Just as Fawkes was about to bolt, Jack grabbed her arm. "Denton says we don't have to run anymore."

"You might not-" Fawkes said. She was frozen in place, watching the wagon draw nearer, Snyder at the reins.

"Just wait," Denton assured her

The police wagon pulled to a stop and the three men riding in the front clambered off. One of the officers opened the door and many a newsie stepped out into the sun. Into freedom.

The last one out was Crutchy, the boy Jack and Fawkes had tried to rescue from the Refuge some days ago. How was this possible? What was going on? Fawkes looked to Denton, baffled, but he, like everyone else, was watching Snyder.

One of the officers double-checked the interior before the second one pushed Snyder towards the stairs. Fawkes could see now the man was handcuffed as he was loaded into the wagon.

What was going on?

Crutchy loitered near the cops and was allowed to shut the door and slide the bolt.

A cheer went up from the newsies. Well, from any homeless kid, of which, there were more than a few in attendance.

Crutchy gimped over to where Jack was standing, a grin on his face, "Oh man, you should have seen it! He came into the Refuge waving his walking stick like a sword-"

"Who?" Jack wanted to know.

"Your friend! Mr. Roosevelt!" Crutchy nodded into the distance. In the wake of the police wagon was an open-topped carriage. Inside was a plump man wearing a top hat and spectacles, waving at the crowd and shaking hands.

Fawkes raised a brow, "_You _know Teddy Roosevelt?"

Jack grinned and Crutchy gaped, "You mean he never told you the story?"

"No…" Fawkes was eyeing them both carefully. Newsies had a habit of improving the truth. She wasn't sure she was going to believe much of this story.

"When I escaped the Refuge, I told you I jumped on the back of a carriage…" Jack trailed off, looking over at Roosevelt.

Fawkes followed his line of sight, "His carriage? You hitched a ride on the back of the governor's carriage?"

"You don't believe me?" Jack sounded hurt.

Fawkes couldn't find anything to say. You don't choose the circumstances of escape. You take what you're given and make it work. She knew that.

Denton spoke up, "I made sure the governor got a copy of our special edition. He's a man who doesn't like to be tricked. He'll make sure Snyder is brought to justice. To thank you two for bringing the matter to light, he's offered to take you anywhere you want to go."

"Like the trainyards?" Jack's voice was quiet as he looked down at his feet.

"Or the boatyard?" Fawkes looked at Jack.

The grins and gleeful looks of their companions fell off their faces.

Jack and Fawkes didn't notice. They were thinking that the impossible had happened. Was it possible their dreams could finally come true?

Jack glanced up at Denton who shrugged. The Cowboy grinned at Fawkes, "Wanna go meet Teddy Roosevelt? Way I recall it, he seems to be the one person in the world you don't know."

Fawkes grinned, "I'd love for you to introduce me, being where you two know each other so well."

The pair started off for the waiting carriage. They both turned within a step and mouthed their thanks to Denton.

He saluted them in response.

They nodded and continued on their way.

The crowd was dispersing.

The circulation bell rang.

The newsies waved until the carriage rolled out of sight, then proceeded, heads bowed, to form the line to buy their papers.

"So, you're the brains behind the strike?" Roosevelt grinned at them as they rolled along.

Fawkes looked at Jack and he looked back. They both nodded.

"Why'd you do it?"

They looked at each other again, not sure what was safe to say. How much had Denton told him? Could they trust the word of a politician? They'd just gone up against Pulitzer. This man was much more genial and they weren't sure how to handle it.

"The boys told me they couldn't afford it," Jack shrugged. "The trolley strike was going on too, so we took our lead from them."

"And you got all the boroughs on board, and all the newspapers?"

The pair nodded.

"And you did it because your boys couldn't pay?" Roosevelt was still grinning. "Even though you could?"

Jack and Fawkes exchanged looks but didn't say anything.

"Does that matter?" Fawkes asked at last.

"It's interesting," Roosevelt allowed.

"Why?" Jack wanted to know.

"When I went to go visit the former warden to confirm what you kids wrote in that article, he told me about you two. That you'd escaped custody-on my own carriage no less, and that you, Miss, were wanted out west. He was lying about how he was spending his funds, so it was possible that he was lying about you two, but before he left, I made him unearth your records." Roosevelt eyed the pair of them, "It strikes me as odd, that if you were the hardened criminals Mr. Snyder and the records make you out to be, why would you risk your new aliases to help someone other than yourself?"

"Because we're not hardened criminals," Fawkes made a face. "We've got no family in this world. We had to find our own ways to make ends meet. Self-preservation won out over law-abiding for me. I've made mistakes, everyone has. I ignored laws that would have made me starve. When I was younger I didn't fully understand the repercussions. I've spent my time since trying to live rightly. When Pulitzer changed the price I saw my opportunity to compensate for my mistakes. I joined the fight because the newsies were just trying to live honestly and the man upstairs was making that impossible."

"Newsies are sort of a brotherhood," Jack added. "You squabble over turf and fight other papers, but at the end of the day, you're all sleeping in the same place. In that way, newsies are the only family we have. A good chunk of us are orphans and its the only decent job we can get. We gotta support each other through the hard times. That's why we stuck around. We told them to stand up for what they believed in. How could we do that and not stand up ourselves? We gave them a voice. It meant that we became figureheads, which drew a lot of fire, because of what we'd done, but we knew it was going to happen. Who else was going to be able to handle what they dished out except for two kids who have always been on the wrong side of authority?"

"Which is another part that puzzles me," Roosevelt admitted. "You fought alongside those newsies, literally, risked exposure and jail time, and worse, and now that you've won, you're leaving?"

Fawkes and Jack turned sheepish. "Sir," Fawkes began, "if you've seen my file, you know I'm wanted out west. I came to New York to get away from that. To work and to save for passage to Ireland. The strike made saving hard to do, but I found another job. I've got the money now."

"I'm wanted for theft and escape," Jack blew out a breath. "I've been trying to save money to go west to start out fresh. Pulitzer gave me some bribe money so I can finally afford to do that."

"You're moving on. That's good," Roosevelt nodded. "What about all the boys you're going to leave behind? The ones you fought so hard for. Did you think about how your leaving is going to affect them?"

Fawkes and Jack looked at each other for a long time. They hadn't. Their only thought had been to get out of New York while they still could. Before someone threw another charge at them. They tripped over themselves to try to explain this aspect to Roosevelt.

He nodded and smiled. "I understand. You want fresh starts. You finally have money in your pockets to do the stuff you've always dreamed of."

They nodded.

"What if I offered you another choice?"

The teens looked confused.

"Miss Fawkes, you're eighteen, right?"

"Yessir," she answered uncertainly.

"And Jack, you're seventeen, right?"

"Yes," Jack said.

"How would you feel about a governor's pardon?"

Their eyes went wide.

"That way, you Jack, could start fresh and not have to run away to do it. Miss Fawkes, I will apply to the states in which you are wanted to see how best we can get that resolved based on what I've seen and heard about here in New York."

Jack's eyes narrowed, "What's the catch?"

"Pardon?" Roosevelt rumbled.

"You're doing something for us, now we have to do something for you," Jack explained.

Roosevelt chuckled, "Well, you're almost adults in the eyes of the law. I think it's best you start that part of your life with a clean slate. As for what I'd like from you: it's recently come to my attention that there is an open position as the warden of the House of Refuge. You two strike me as a pair of folks who know how to handle the children that will happen through it's doors. It pays better than being a newsie, and, I see your faces, it doesn't have a good reputation. With you two in charge, you can change that. Turn it into a place of hope."

Jack looked flabberghasted.

Fawkes still had a sour look on her face.

"What's on your mind, Miss Fawkes?" Roosevelt wondered.

"It's just a lot to process," Fawkes admitted. "You're willing to attempt to clear our records and appoint us to government positions, based solely on our strike efforts? I feel like we are underqualified. Inadequate…"

Roosevelt laughed, "I would have chosen resourceful and driven. I think you two possess the skills that would allow you to succeed in such an environment."

"Can we think about it?" Jack asked.

"That is the hard part," Roosevelt remarked, putting Jack and Fawkes immediately on their guard. He laughed at their reactions, "The destinations you asked me to drop you off at are not conducive if I expect a reply."

Fawkes made a face, "You're right." She looked at Jack, "What do you want to do?"

"The idea of a steady paycheck has me interested," he admitted.

"Should we go back?"

Jack grinned, "Let's."

Teddy smiled and instructed his driver to return them to the distribution center.

As they bounced along the cobbles on their way back, Fawkes spoke up, "I have a concern."

"I'd love to hear it," Roosevelt said.

"If we were to accept this position-and I'm not saying we will-aren't we a little young for folks to take us seriously?"

"You've been appointed by the state's governor. No one will question that. Especially when they hear you stood toe-to-toe with Mr. Pulitzer and didn't flinch, not to mention, that you got him to back down on his position," Roosevelt's grin was back.

Fawkes nodded, "Okay, well, if we were to take this position-and I'm not saying we will-I don't think the House of Refuge is a good home base. Maybe it could be turned into a sort of holding center-or something. I think the Refuge would be more beneficial outside of the city. I know I couldn't live in here forever. If there's more space we could make a campus and perhaps teach those that come to us some skills so that when they get out, they'll be able to join the workforce instead of resuming a life of crime."

Roosevelt nodded, "If you take the position, I'd like to see a written plan of your intentions and changes."

Fawkes nodded.

They rounded the corner and the square came into view.

A cheer came up from the newsies loitering around the distribution center as they sat and read their papes, looking for headlines.

They jumped to a stand and crowded the carriage as it drew close.

"What are you doing back here?" Racetrack demanded, a stack of papers under one arm, a cigarette in his free hand.

"Just couldn't stay away," Jack boasted, vaulting out of the carriage. He turned to shake Roosevelt's hand and express his thanks.

"When do you want an answer?" Fawkes asked as she climbed out.

"How about the end of the week?" Roosevelt suggested.

"How will we get ahold of you?" Fawkes asked.

Roosevelt pulled a business card from his person and handed it to her, "I look forward to hearing from you."

Fawkes said her goodbyes and the carriage rolled out of sight.

"What was that about?" Spot wanted to know.

Fawkes turned to him, "What are you doing outside of Brooklyn? The strike's over."

"You saying I can't stray across the line?" Spot retorted. "Who's gonna stop me?"

Fawkes didn't reply. She was curious as to what he was still doing around.

"How's the headline today?" Jack asked.

The newsies grumbled in response and dispersed.

Jack laughed.

"What are you guys doing back here?" Racetrack repeated. "I thought nothing was going to come between you and your exotic locales."

Jack let out a snort and shook his head. It was Fawkes who responded, "Roosevelt offered us a job."

"Doing what?" Spot was making a face.

"Running the House of Refuge," Jack responded with a face of his own.

"What?" Racetrack roared.

"He says we can reform it. Make it a useful establishment instead of the hell we know," Fawkes hurried to explain.

"Are you going to go for it?" Spot asked.

"What about Ireland?" Racetrack wondered.

"If Roosevelt agrees to relocate it upstate, I'm in," Fawkes shrugged. "I'm sick of skyscrapers."

"Jack?" Race asked.

The teen shrugged, "If she's in, I guess I gotta be. Don't want her getting all the credit."

Racetrack and Spot looked at each other and then at Fawkes and Jack.

"You don't like the city?" Spot asked Fawkes.

"Never have," Fawkes admitted. "It's a means to an end."

"You know," Racetrack said, "I hear they raise the horses for the Sheepshead Races up that way."

Fawkes nodded that this was true, "You looking to get a job there?" He knew she used to work for a farm there.

"Could be," Race said, "if it means you and Jack'll be up there."

"You know a thing about horses."

"You could teach me before you go."

Fawkes shook her head, "Not gonna happen." She'd had enough of his foolishness. She went to go collect so papes to sell.

Spot stopped Race's attempt to trouble her any further, "Just do what I'm going to do the second these two get put in charge."

"What's that?" Jack wanted to know, a smile ready.

"Actually get caught for a crime I commit," Spot was grinning when Fawkes looked back at him. "You can't blame me," Spot said in response to her scowl, "free room and board, surrounded by people I actually like, it sounds like a nice vacation."

"I didn't know you liked people," Jack remarked crossing his arms.

It was Race who looked puzzled at the direction things had taken, "You've never left the city before. You'd sacrifice your kingship of Brooklyn, just to hang out with these two?"

Spot's eyes never left Fawkes's, "It'd be worth it."

The girl looked away, not sure she could handle the intensity of his offer. She was no stranger to his declarations, but this one was in front of a lot of people. She'd ignored him before now because she had to. The strike was her priority. Not getting murdered by Brookies was high up there too. Avoiding Snyder. Pretending to be a boy. The list was pretty long. With the strike over, her identities revealed, and Snyder gone, she didn't have a reason to keep pushing him away.

He was younger than her, but that wasn't a huge deal. He'd liked her from the get-go, when she had her cowboy hat, when her hair was long. He didn't get all ornery when she beat him up and he'd pursued her despite them living in different boroughs. He was still trying.

Fawkes looked to Jack for help.

"I don't think it'd be good for the warden to be seen having social relations with an inmate," Jack said. "We'll see if we can get you a job."

Fawkes managed a shy smile. "You'll like it," she promised. "They've got fields that go on for miles. Some of 'em are even lined with stone walls. I used to pretend I was in Ireland when I was up there."

"Can you get me a job too?" Racetrack wondered.

Jack laughed, wrapping an arm around either boy and pulling them close, "We're going to have so much fun!"

*Author's Note: So ends the story. Happy endings and new beginnings (maybe?). Thanks for reading! Thanks especially to NASA (and everyone else) for the reviews throughout! I really appreciated them! If you liked this, you should check out my original fiction over Fictionpress. My penname there is fireintrouble (shameless plug! I know!). Thanks again!*


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